


It's Just A Spark.

by alexxxford



Series: Last Hope [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ADHD, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake Relationship, First Time, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxxford/pseuds/alexxxford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is beginning to think he really doesn't know as much as he thought. For example:<br/>1. Why does he keep having panic attacks?<br/>2. Why has he agreed to go on a long weekend with Derek to track a potentially murderous alpha?<br/>And more importantly 3. Why had Derek just told this alpha that Stiles is his boyfriend?!</p><p>(daily updates)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paranoias Brought Me To My Knees

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title: Paramore - Last Hope  
> Chapter Title: Black Eyed Peas ft. Papa Roach - Anxiety
> 
> Wrote this fic to cover a few of my favourite Sterek memes.  
> Let me know if you think there should be any other warnings etc.  
> Feedback is always majorly appreciated.

It starts as a kind of... antsy feeling. That's how he knows it’s coming.  
  
A fluttering in his chest. **Palpitations.**  
There’s a tightening of his stomach muscles.  
Then there’s a heat, which comes in waves. **Vasomotor symptoms**.   
The fluttering in his chest rapidly increases. **Tachycardia.**   
Then adrenaline, which he can actually feel begin to pulse through his veins, feel them stiffen and constrict as it does. Hormones. **Fight or flight.**  
That's when the lump in his throat becomes overwhelming. Like a fist, suffocating him. **Globus pharynges.**  
He starts gasping for air but he's not getting any. **Dyspnea.**  
Suddenly his vision is blurring, burnt around the edges, and moving. **Tunnel vision.** Sorry, **Kalnienk.  
** He clasps at his chest, desperately trying to such oxygen into his malfunctioning body.

Somewhere in the distance he can hear Scott calling to him but he can't hear his words over the loud thumping of his own heart rate.

**Panic Attack.** There’s no scientific term for that. There’s also no cure. Or nothing that’s worked for Stiles.  
  
He pushes back out of his chair, the legs screeching across the cheap linoleum floor of his maths room. He's not sure, perhaps the chair falls behind him. He is sure of course that everyone in the class is staring at him. He can hear the teacher’s voice somewhere too but he ignores it, using the remaining inch of vision he still has left to locate the class room door he bolts from the room, then the school.   
  
His feet hit hard on the Tarmac of the sidewalk and his arms flail to try and keep him balanced but the attempt is futile and his top half is going faster than his bottom and suddenly there's no ground beneath his feet and with a sickening crash he hits the floor and the world goes black.   
  
  
The first thing he is aware of is a voice. Not of concern.. anger?  
As his hearing becomes clearer he realizes its two voices, and they're not aimed at him.   
He screws up his face and tries to open his eyes but a harsh yellow electric light stares straight back at him, burning like needles into his eye sockets right through it feels to his brain. So he shuts his eyes again and tries instead to focus on the voices.   
  
"Just for a few days" that's Scott, he's doing his typical 'loud whisper'.   
  
"No. No way. I can do it alone"  
  
Stiles frowns. Derek?  
  
"No" Scott growls, sounding rather.. wolf. “We’re a pack. We’re stronger that way. No more solo missions.”  
  
There's a pause and Stiles is sure he can actually hear Derek thinking. Not the words.. just a buzzing of that stubborn brain trying to find a way out of whatever it is Scott's proposing.   
  
"No!" He finally snaps back firmly. "No! No no no no no no no!"  
  
  
It's a while later Stiles comes around again. This time when he tries to open his eyes thank god someone has switched that damned light off.   
  
His eyes scan the room, careful not to move any other part of his body for fear of what's happened to him. The last thing he remembers is being in class…  
  
It's dark and familiar. Steel beams line his vision. He eases his head to the left only to spot what looks like a.. rail car?  
How hard did he hit his head?!  
  
Instinctively he sits bolt upright in panic, which is ultimately a terrible life decision, the only type Stiles makes.  White light burst behind his eyelids and a wave of heat swallows him as he vomits on the ground below.   
  
"Oh my god, you're cleaning that up" Derek's unimpressed drawl echoes off the warehouses steel walls.   
  
"Whatever" comes Scott's voice from nearby.   
  
Stiles lurches forward again, his stomach completely rejecting everything he'd eaten that day and more apparently because he hadn’t eaten breakfast in weeks and even the smell of the canteen food churned his stomach these days. Apparently you could live of Cheetos and Mountain Dew. Well no, on second thoughts maybe that was why he was being sick.  
  
"Seriously? Why is he here? Why couldn't we have gone to yours?"  
Derek is moaning.   
  
"Shuttup, what if he's seriously concussed!"  
  
"I doubt we'd see the difference" Derek mumbles crossly.   
  
Gripping the edge of the couch with one arm he holds up the other to them. "Er hello, I am here"  
His skull literally feels like at being drilled and he still feels nauseous but his stomachs now well and truly empty even if the muscles can’t relax.  
  
"Not my choice" Derek throws his arms in the air earning a stern glare from Scott.   
  
His expression softens as he turns to Stiles, the concern evident through the mask of a smile. "You okay buddy?"  
  
Stiles sits up straight, massaging his forehead. "Yeah, just the Kilimanjaro equivalent of headaches but I’ll live."  
  
Scott crouches down just in front of him, resting a hand on Stiles knee, to reassure him or balance himself or both.  
  
"No I mean, are you _okay_?" He emphasizes the last word to stress its importance. Stiles had just blacked out in class, smacked his head, and woken up in Derek's basement. The last thing he wanted right now was a therapy session from his best friend. And yeah no he definitely wasn’t okay.  
  
"Sure" he laughs nervously. "I'm fine! You know me. Stiles. Fine. Always.. fine…"  
  
Scott looks up at Derek, who's stood a little back, with raised eyebrows as if Stiles had just proved his point somehow.   
  
Derek purses his lips, shakes his head once, then again. He then huffs out a frustrated breath and rolls his eyes aggressively and steps forward taking his turn to address Stiles, slightly more condescendingly than Scott had.   
  
"You don't feel.. stressed? Anxious?"  
  
What is going on here? Is this an intervention? Stiles looks between the two of them, his heart rate picking up. "What? No!" he says much too fast. He’s not even fooling himself.  
  
"Stiles it's okay" Scott tries to sound reassuring but Stiles just glares at him.   
  
"I'm fine! What are you on about?"  
  
"We're just trying to help you!"  
  
Suddenly Stiles feels angry. What do they want from him? Why is he here? Why the hell had Scott gotten Derek involved?  
  
"Well _whatdoyouwant_ me to say?" He snaps. "Everyone I know is a werewolf, or worse, and I can't tell anyone and the last few months I've nearly died about five times. My best mate has a girlfriend and never has time for me my dad has to work his butt off nearly 60 hours a week because the captain of the lacrosse team killed most of the police force and he’s trying to redeem himself because I got him fired as that very captain has a restraining order against me and I always seem to be at the crime scene of every crime in town yes of course I'm stressed out and anxious!"

He’s panting by the time he finishes and he can feel his cheeks are flushed but my god it’s such a relief to have that off his chest because he hasn’t spoken to anyone for a long time.  
  
Derek's shoulders slump, he nods once at Scott and wanders off across the warehouse, naturally he must leave the room if anyone even mentions feelings.  
  
Scott gets up and drops down on the couch next to him. He’s silent for a while, trying to find the words, because what do you say for that.

“I’m sorry”

Stiles gets up. “No. Don’t apologise. Its my own fault and it doesn’t help. Look I’m going, I’ll see you tomorrow at school”. He lifts his backpack up and slings it over his shoulder and heads out without another word.

 

When he’s gone Derek returns and hops up onto a table opposite Scott who’s still on the couch. “Remind me again how taking him on a mission is gonna be good for anyone?”

“He just needs to get away for a bit. He’s still feeling guilty about his dad.. and I was reading about Panic Attacks and some people say a change of scenery..” he trails off.

“Panic Attacks?”

Shit maybe he shouldn’t have… but Derek would realize sooner or later.

It’s Scott’s turn to pick up his rucksack and head for the door. “Look Derek, just do it, please. It will be good for him. Good for both of you to spend a bit of time together, you have by far the worst relationship out of all of us.”

“It could be dangerous? This Alpha is strong”

“Stiles is clever”

“He’ll need a fake I.D to get in the bar?”

“Get one” Scott smiles, shaking his head and heading home. Well, to Allison’s.

Okay, so he had no idea what he was doing and maybe this was a terrible idea but he had to do _something_ before… he didn’t even want to think of where Stiles was headed.

He swallowed. _Crap._ They had to fix Stiles. They needed him, they all did. He just didn’t notice.


	2. Long Road To Ruin

Stiles turned the fake I.D over between his fingers carefully like it might explode, and sighed heavily, placing it back on the table.   
  
"I don't know. I mean, we've done some pretty crazy shit, but this has gotta be the worst." 

Everyone’s eyes are on him and it makes him feel uncomfortable. They’d obviously all already discussed this without him and now they were offering this as if he had a choice and it wasn’t already decided upon. Which it was. Clearly.  
  
"It's for a good cause?" Scott beams brightly.   
  
"Yeah but this is like _, illegal_ illegal"  
  
"Thanks for the input" Derek rolls his eyes.   
  
Stiles sighs and picks up the I.D again, regarding it suspiciously. "Miles Polinski" he reads.   
  
"You’re twenty one" Scott's sings, raising his eyebrows. Stiles eyes fall down to the date of birth. _June 6th, 1992._ That could come in handy…  
  
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.   
  
Scott slaps him on the back. "See! Don't say I don't ever do anything for you"

Derek clears his throat because he’d been the one to get the idea, but they both ignore him.  
  
Reluctantly he pulls his wallet out his back pocket and deposits the fake driver’s license behind his real one still rather dubiously.  
  
"I still don't see why I have to go with him" he growls under his breath, eyes not so subtly darting over to Derek who's stood a few feet away leaning haunts the wall, arms folded.   
  
"Because I can’t, if I don't manage to get my grades up at summer school they're gonna hold me back"  
  
They’re all sat around a table in Derek’s warehouse whilst Derek and Scott explained the plan. They were trying a new thing. _Working together._ Apparently that’s pretty unheard of as werewolves. Being equal and stuff. But it was widely agreed that both Scott and Derek brought something, very different, to the table.

Erica scowls. “So this alpha, he’s the one responsible for the murders? The ones in the paper, the boys?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out”

“He’s staying a resort up outside of town. Derek and Stiles are going to go and spy on him, see if they can get any clues-“

“If we can get proof we can kill him and put an end to this” Derek interjects causing Stiles eyebrows to shoot up.

  
Stiles leaves the pack meeting feeling more uneasy than ever. He was sure Scott’s motives were… well-intended. But his best friend was an idiot!

Derek picked him up at 8 the next morning. He’d arranged a cover story with Scott for his dad but honestly, the Sheriff was as desperate as Scott to try and help Stiles and would likewise probably try anything.

He’d packed a duffel bag with some clothes, band tee’s and plaid shirts, underwear and a couple of pairs of jeans. He’d thrown in a few textbooks and a spare pair on converse and of course his laptop was packed but other than that he couldn’t think of anything.

He slung his bag into the backseat of the Camaro and climbed awkwardly into the passenger seat.

He wasn’t only nervous about the Alpha they were going to ‘spy’ on. He was nervous at the prospect of spending time alone with Derek. Possibly _days_ alone with him. Scott went on at him about his relationship with the older werewolf.

_“I know you don’t trust him still but you must know by now he won’t harm you”_

No Stiles very much didn’t know that, not in the slightest.

Derek greeted him with a curt grunt and sped off before Stiles had even got his seatbelt on.

An awkward silence soon descending upon them and neither seemed willing to break it. Stiles sat stiffly in his seat for a long time, back straight and rigid, hands in his lap and he was _way_ too focused on his breathing. You know when you begin thinking about it too much and it stops being natural and now he was having to try really hard to actually remember to do it and oh my god-

He punches the button with the down arrow and the window next to him rips down letting cold fresh air into the car which he gasps in gratefully. He can see Derek glance at him out of the corner of his eye but is relieved when he chooses not to comment.

Stiles tries to relax, bunching up his jumper and resting his head on it on the car door giving him optimum access to the clear air.

It’s gone nine now but he’d hardly slept the night before and soon he could feel his eyelids growing heavy and he just didn’t have the energy or the inclination to fight it off.

He wakes with a start as something hits him the chest. He jumps, his hoody nearly falling out the open window, he grabs it, kicking below the glove compartment and stubbing his toe.

“What the hell?!”

“Directions” Derek grunts without taking his eyes off the road ahead. Stiles looks down and notes it’s a map that had so harshly woken him. He opens it to a random page, turning it to look from different angles. Which way is up? “Page 9. G…4”

Stiles flicks to the sixth page but… how the hell is he supposed to know whereabouts they are right now?  
He can see ‘Lakeside Lodge Resort’ in the box Derek had said…

He turned the map 90, 180, 270 degree’s. Where’s the little dot that indicates which road they are on. And the button to flip the map the right way…

“Don’t tell me you can’t map read” Derek’s voice is threatening, more so than he probably means it to be, and Stiles can feel colour rise up his neck to the tips of his ears. No, he’d never been anywhere. He’d never needed to book read.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have Satnav?” he retorts crossly.

“Satwhat?”

He rolls his eyes.

Scott had estimated the journey at an hour and a half tops. It was midday before they arrived. Admittedly they’d had to stop numerous times. Stiles bladder apparently chose to betray him, you know, just for shits and lols. They’d stopped for directions twice, and Derek couldn’t take more than half an hour of Stiles stomach rumbling before pulling over at a service station and practically force feeding him a burger and chips.

A big wooden sign alerted them to their turning a mile before. They still nearly missed it, Derek swerving to the left causing Stiles to nearly end up on his lap, in order to get onto the tree lined avenue.

About ten minutes away from the road the trees opened up into a clearing. A large wooden lodge with smoke piping from a chimney was signposted as the reception.

Stiles peered out the window. It looked very much like when him and Scott had gone to camp with the scouts back in primary school. Well let’s hope this didn’t end as bad..

“Hardly looks like a hot bed of evil-alpha activity” he states, noting an elderly couple pass by the car, the man with a fishing rod slung over his left shoulder, the woman a picnic basket resting on her right arm.

“Actually places like this are very popular for werewolves. In the middle of nowhere. Peace. Space. Safety…” Something in Derek’s tone suggested he’d been on a similar holiday before. The faraway look in his eyes vanished as fast as it had appeared as he pulled the keys from the ignition. “Stay here” he ordered, slipping from the car and heading into reception.

Stiles sits awkwardly in the Camaro for twenty minutes. His over active imagination was conjuring up all kinds of gory scenarios carry out in behind the lace net-curtains lining the floor length windows of the cabin. These ranging from Derek beheading people to coming across the alpha and an all-out wolf battle ensuing.

He’s actually relieved to see Derek heading back towards the car, even though he looks miserable as ever.

He swings the car round and follows the path off to the right until they’re hidden behind a curtain of trees giving them privacy Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted.

He parks outside cabin 4. It’s small and neat and cosy looking and Stiles might have giggled at the idea of Derek staying here. That is of course if he didn’t have to stay there with him…

Stiles retrieves his bag from the backseat and follows Derek into their cabin. It’s centred around one main room, a large living area complete with a big plush corner sofa and a flat screen. Behind is a small but modern kitchen. There are two doors to the left of the room and that is all.

Derek yanks one open. The bathroom, again small but modern with a double shower but no bath. Stiles sucks in a breath as Derek opens the left hand door. An angry roar alerts Stiles to what he expected. Derek stormed past him, bumping his shoulder with almost shoulder snapping force, tearing his phone from his pocket and storming out, slamming the double glazed door behind him.

Stiles stayed rooted to the sport for a moment before he convinced his legs which suddenly felt like lead to move. He peered nervously through the bedroom door. Smack bang in the middle like a giant elephant in the room was a large king-sized bed.

_Holy shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so these last two chapters have just been setting the scene. I promise a bit more excitement is coming ;)


	3. So Far From Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles regrets his decision to join Derek, but maybe the old sour wolf has a... sweet side?

Stiles feels like crying. He doesn’t know why. After Derek had stormed out upon spotting the double bed he hadn’t returned for four hours leaving Stiles alone and a bit worried. When he returned he wouldn’t make eye contact with Stiles.

“There’s no other cabins” he’d said gruffly, throwing down two bags of shopping. Does the man do groceries to calm his rage or... “You can sleep on the couch”. He’d then gone into the bathroom, without checking whether Stiles needed to use it, and commenced the world’s longest shower. That was forty minutes ago and he still hadn’t resurfaced.

Stiles was wedged into the corner of the couch. He had his feet pulled up, his arms hugging his legs to his chest, his chip resting awkwardly on his knees. The tv was showing the news, Stiles watched with unseeing eyes.  
He hadn’t moved in nearly two hours. It had been light when he’d sat down but out in the forest, surrounded by tree and with no street lights it was getting pretty dark in the cabin now. Cold too.

He wriggled his phone out of his back pocket with minimal movements and held 2 to speed dial Scott. It took eight rings for him to answer.  
  


_“Dude!” Scott sounded cheerful as ever. “You make it there okay? I’ve been waiting to hear from you?!”_

_You could have called first if you were that worried_ Stiles thinks.

_“Yeah. We’re here” he mumbles. In the background he can hear Allison giggling and asking who it is and immediately regrets ringing. “Sorry, you’re busy-“_

_“No!” Scott cuts him off._

_Stiles swallows, there’s a lump forming in his throat and he can feel his eyes stinging a little and he feels a long way from home. He feels alone and vulnerable and unsafe and how is this supposed to be making anything better?_

_“Wh.. what’s it like?” Scott forces conversation._

_“Nice. Yeah”_

_“How’s Derek?”_

_He doesn’t answer. Just hearing Derek’s name awakens the knot of anxiety in his chest and stomach. The line is quiet for a long time and one tear escapes from Stiles eyes. “I want to come home” he says in a broken whisper._

_Scott swaps ears with the phone. “Is everything okay? Has he hurt you? I swear Stiles if he does anything-“_

_“I’m fine. I’m sorry” Stiles snaps the phone off, cutting Scott off mid-sentence because he can’t bear to hear him and tossing the phone away from him because suddenly the sight of it offends him._

He continues to sit in his position on the couch, watching the same twenty minutes news looks for the nth time in the increasingly dark cabin. 

Eventually he hears the shower shut off and Derek pad into the bedroom via the joining door. The hairdryer blasts for a while and Stiles tries to stop his wandering mind from picturing the scene behind the bedroom door because why does he even want to do that?

Minutes later Derek appears. Stiles can feel him looking at him but he just ignores it and pretends to be engrossed in the tv. The older man hesitates for a moment.

“I’m er, going for a run” he says finally. “If you make any food, save me some…?”

Stiles doesn’t look up immediately. When he does, Derek has gone. After a while he can’t deny his stomachs rumbling or his curiosity. He eases himself up off the couch, yes he’s only 17 but he’s been sat there so damn long he imagines he can hear his knee joints creak. They hurt too.

He limps over to the carrier bags on the kitchen counter and begins to pour through them. What does Derek eat anyway? He always imagined him eating some weird wolfy stuff, like road-kill, but realistically Scott ate the same as Stiles…

 _Pasta._ Apparently the great werewolf eats pasta. There’s also cheese, milk, butter, mushrooms, tomatoes, orange juice, bread and ham.  

Stiles isn’t a chef, far from. But despite popular belief he does know how to cook. At least a little. That’s what happens when your dad works lates and your mum.. and he’s the only parent.

He brings a large pot to the boil and opens two packets of tagliatelle into it. He then melts the butter into a pan and adds milk and grates cheese, stirring it into a sauce. Keeping the warm he fries some of the mushrooms and tomatoes.   
Twenty minutes later he’s straining off the pasta and pouring on the sauce and tipping on the veg.

He makes himself a small bowl and leaves the rest in the oven for Derek. He chews on the pasta but cannot swallow. Suddenly he feels full even though he knows he isn’t. He forces down about half before he really can’t stomach any more. He washes up after himself before getting a blanket from the cupboard above Derek’s bed and huddling up on the couch, cocooning himself.

He wakes up when Derek comes in. He hears him heating up the food and dishing himself a bowl before disappearing into the back bedroom. The only thing Stiles is aware on from then on is that stupid spring in the middle of the sofa that’s digging into his back. Or the itchiness of this blanket that reeks of cigarette smoke and oh my god do you thinks it’s been washed?

He’s sure he hears a wolf howl.

  
Morning cannot come quick enough for Stiles. Not that he slept a wink or feels in any way rejuvenated but this place is damn creepy at night and even out in the woods he’s beginning to feel very claustrophobic because he can’t do anything or go anywhere and why didn’t he bring his jeep?!

Derek showers first and Stiles gets in afterwards. No words are exchanged between the two of them.

The shower smells like Derek. Stiles isn’t even sure how he picks up on that but he does. He closes his eyes and lets his head roll back, the water running off his face. His hands work soap across his body but soon find themselves wrapped around his cock. It’s a natural thing. A boy thing. Why do you think they all shower so damn much?  
He works his hands over himself gently, it’s soothing and a calm envelopes him as he breathes in the woody scent Derek has left in the shower and tries not to question why he would do this. 

He pictures Derek without even meaning to. He see him so clearly in his mind. Outside the Hale house. In his mind Derek is looking for something. He inhales a deep breath, sniffing the air-

Suddenly Stiles hand stops. His heart is beating hard in his chest and he can feel that wonderful ache in the pit of his stomach signalling a release closing in on him, but a horrible thought has occurred to him. 

He drops his painfully hard cock and begins to scrub shampoo viciously through his hair. Damn fucking Derek can smell fucking everything and he is so far away from being okay with him knowing he was wanking in the shower…

So the day has started off pretty terribly and Stiles feels even more un-Stiles like than before. He dries himself roughly, his skin glowing red in protest and dammit he forgot to bring a clean change of clothes into the bathroom. So still somewhat angry and horny and very tired he appears from the bathroom in his black jeans and black and grey raglan from yesterday ready to rip Derek’s head off..

But he doesn’t.

Derek looks uncomfortable to say the least. Maybe even embarrassed.

“Err, I was making myself some so I.. I don’t know if you.. do you like porridge?”

Stiles frowns and nods. “Yeah, sure”. The sight of Derek stood at the cooker stirring porridge putting him at a loss for words. He wanders slowly over to the breakfast bar and hops up on a stool to watch. Derek has laid out three bowls with berries on the counter. He picks one up, tossing it into his mouth absent-mindedly. Derek snaps round.

“Wait no! That’s poisonous!”

“What!” He spits it out, rubbing his tongue feverently with the sleeves of his jumper. “Dude oh my-“ but he trails off when he spots Derek _laughing._ Yes. Actually laughing. “What the hell?!” he scowls.

Derek points the wooden spoon at him. “So gullible!” he gasps between laughs. Stiles just glares at him. Since when has he had a sense of humour?!

He grabs the bowl of berries and storms off down onto the couch. “Someone got a good night sleep” he grumbles.

“Hey don’t eat all of those!” Derek calls over his shoulder, his attention back on his porridge. “And yeah, it was great thanks”

Stiles narrows his eyes, like is he trying to wind him up or totally oblivious. “Well I hardly slept at all! You know, this couch is not as comfy as it looks! Plus it gets freezing in here over night and I can hear every leaf that falls..”

Derek throws him a funny look. “Jeez, are you gonna moan the whole time?”

Stiles pulls a face, when he’s turned around, and starts to cram all the berries in.

“I mean it, don’t eat them all, you’ll be sick”

  
After what can only be described as the most awkward breakfast ever they head out. It had taken a lot of persuading on Stiles part for Derek to let him accompany him, but what Stiles lacked in means of physical persuasion, he made up for with, well, moaning.

“Can’t you just like… sniff him out?” Stiles sighs, resting against a tree. They’d been walking for nearly two hours but probably weren’t more than a couple of miles from the camp site. They were circling. Spiralling, around.

“He’s not the only wolf” Derek replies without stopping to wait.

Stiles head snaps round to check behind him as he hears something rustling. A thrush. Terrifying. 

“H.. how many are there?” he asks hurrying to catch up.

Derek shrugs. “Twenty. Maybe more”

“ _Twenty?!”_

“I told you, this area is very popular with werewolves. We like to travel so sites like these are ideal”

“Like gypsies?”

“No not like gypsies!”

“So is everyone staying at this site a werewolf? Do the people that run it know? Are they werewolves?”

Derek sighs heavily not even attempting to hide his annoyance. “Stiles if you have questions, please google them”

“But it won’t.. I cant..”

Stiles doesn’t stop asking questions and Derek doesn’t stop ignoring them and the whole morning just seems like a big waste of time as they don’t seem to find anything. By early afternoon they finally loop back to their lodge for lunch.

After lunch Derek heads out again to have a ‘chat to the locals’ but he won’t let Stiles come. By the time he gets back it’s nearly dark.

“Find anything?” Stiles is sprawled out across the offending couch watching an old 80’s fic and texting Scott answers to a quiz.

“There’s a pub down the road. One of the locals reckons a new alpha started hanging out there about the same time the killings started. Gonna go and check it out later”

“Great! I’ll get dressed!” Stiles beams, jumping up.

“No, Stiles, I-“

“Won’t be long!” he dives into the bedroom before Derek can stop him and tell him he can’t come because damn it they’ve only been here one day and he’s already sick of the interior and he has a _fake ID_ and he’ll be damned if he’s not using it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so not quite exciting yet, this chapter ran away with me! Hope it's keeping you interested :p  
> Feedback appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a run-in with the alpha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-consensual kissing and touching. Could be triggering or upsetting. Please let me know if you feel the tags don't cover it.

He’s not sure why it matters, it just does. The black shirt.. doesn’t work on him. Washes out his already too pale complexion. The pale blue, much better. He buttons the cuffs and steps back to regard himself in the bathroom mirror. Black fitted jeans and black suede trainers, that’ll have to do. He has no hair as such to do much with so he douses himself in aftershave, cleans his teeth and is done.

Derek ‘chokes’ when he steps into the loo. “Jeez you shower in aftershave?” he complains.

“Some of us don’t have your wolfy-senses. I used a normal amount”. He says it with confidence but still dips round the corner to sniff himself.

 _“Over-compensating”_ He thinks he hears Derek mumble.

There are no street lights. Of course. So Stiles can’t strop and storm off ahead, or lag behind. He has to stick close to Derek who apparently can pretty much see in the dark.

The ‘pub’ is not quite what Stiles had imagined. He’d expected some small traditional affair but this was much bigger and much more stylish and not what you’d imagine to be randomly located in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere.

The interior was dark, two black and two purple walls. A cloakroom sat at the small entrance way, a large glass bar occupied most of one wall. At the far end was a small stage set up with full band instruments. It was crowded too. Mostly with men. In fact, 90% men, and obviously all older than Stiles.

Derek was a head turner, there was no denying that, and to say he felt inadequate walking in behind was, well, an understatement.

They take a table near the bar.

“Oh my god, everyone can tell I’m underage!” Stiles panics.

“You wanna say that any louder?” Derek hisses a reply, eyes scanning the room, not really paying attention to Stiles.

“I’m gonna get arrested. My dad will kill me!”

“I’ll get us a drink. That guy behind you keeps checking you out, see if he knows anything” He says and he has that expression on his face telling Stiles it’s an order not a request.

Stiles drums his fingers on the table nervously, out of tune. He chews his bottom lip before sucking in a deep breath, shaking his head and turning around in his chair. He salutes the guy behind him, who is kind of staring.

“Yo!” he says. Why did he say that?

The guy must be forty. Over-weight. Quite frankly, he looked like Johnny Vegas. He raises an eyebrow slowly, clearly interested and amused by Stiles.

“Yo” he mimics. Stiles assumes he’s not a werewolf, because werewolves are meant to be super-attractive right? 

“Come here often?” Stiles face palms himself. _What-the-hell?!_

“I know you’re not twenty one, and I don’t care, so you can calm down”

Stiles physically relaxes. Okay, so maybe the guys alright. He swings a leg over the low back of the chair so he’s straddling it, facing his new friend.

“Stiles” he extends a hand. The man hesitates before shaking it.

“Howard. You’re alpha, he’s very attractive. Is he… attached?”

Stiles eyes follow Howards gaze to the bar where Derek is leant, waiting to be serves, biceps on show now he’s checked in his leather jacket. Yup, the tart was wearing a white vest underneath. Classy. He groans.

“Am I not attractive? I’m unattached!”

Howard actually laughs and it’s so pitying and degrading even if it’s not meant to be that Stiles thinks he should just wear a paper bag around Derek.

“Sweetie, we just established your age, roughly, you’re a bit young for me. You’re human too, so totally not my type”

Stiles rolls his eyes, _excuses._ “You just can’t handle all of this” he mumbles.

Howard laughs again. “A sense of humour is invaluable though. I’m sure you will make some lucky man very happy.”

“What? No, I’m not gay!”

“Everything okay?” Stiles jumps as Derek appears behind him, sitting two drinks down on the table and glaring at him. Stiles can’t read minds but he can tell mentally Derek is screaming at him. And, probably ripping his throat out, with his teeth. The usual.

“Wonderful” Howard purrs. “I’m Howard”

“Derek” Derek grunts.

“Derek, how… manly. So Derek, what brings you and your strange friend here to this _neck of the woods?_ ”

“We’re hunting an alpha that’s causing trouble for us in our home town”

Stiles double takes, whacking Derek on the arm. “Dude! You can’t just tell him!” he growls.

Derek frowns lightly. “Why not?”

“Because! We’re like.. spies! We can’t give our game away!”

“Stiles, shut up” Derek rolls his eyes and continues to talk to Howard who is thoroughly useless. No offence Howard.

Stiles grumbles to himself, pulling his drink closer and taking a sip. Coke. _The bastard._ He side-glances Derek who’s still deep in conversation and he thinks really sneakily swaps their drinks and takes a sip of Derek’s. Rum. _Much_ better!

So Derek goes off to mingle and Stiles sits/ slumps in his chair, drawing spirals into the condensation on his glass, before realizing he can continue this, at the bar, with alcohol, because he has ID.   
  
"Double Jack and Coke" he beams at the barmaid.   
  
She eyes him suspiciously but nonetheless pours the drink. "That'll be 5.80 sir. Do you have a tab or cash?"  
  
Sir? "Err, tab? Ooh you can charge it to my friend" he points at Derek who's leant against a fruit machine, twirling a straw around a fruit looking cocktail, seriously eye fucking some guy. Stiles coughs. "Er, Mr Hale"  
  
The barmaid looks likes she wants to protest, but thinks better if it, shaking her he's a little and making note of the tab.   
  
Stiles can't tea his eyes away from Derek. He's just so.. confident. So sure if himself. He's used to seeing Derek in battle mode mostly. Harsh. Stand off-ish. This Derek is different.   
  
He reaches forward, squeezing the man’s arm, laughing. Really laughing. And maybe it's an act, but Stiles can't deny his stomach turn uncomfortably as he watches. He couldn't explain his feelings. Not jealousy. Definitely not jealousy. Because ordering four more doubles because you're jealous a guy you 'hate' is flirting, when you're not even gay.. pfft, that's just ridiculous.   
  
He doesn't realize he has company straight away. As he drains another drink. His last. He kicks off the bar, spinning in his bar stool 360 degrees. He grabs the bar, stopping himself, drowning, and looks to the left.   
  
Stood beside him is.. well, a god. He's tall, maybe 6'4. He's slim yet muscled. He's wearing a feet suit and has dark blond hair pushed away from his face. His emerald green eyes are regarding Stiles with the same amusement and interest Howard had had, yet with him it seemed much more.. intense.   
  
"Er, hellooo" he greets intelligently.  
  
He cocks an eyebrow. "Hello sir". His voice is silky smooth his accent distinctively European.  
  
Stiles remembers his abomination of a 'conversation' he'd had with Howard so bit his lip and said nothing. His companion takes the bait and extends three pale, elegant hands. Stiles blinks, gripping the bar to hold himself steady until the three hands mould into one. Yup, that makes more sense.

“Nixon”

“Stiles”

“Stiles? Is that a name?”

“Well I don’t see what kind of a name Nixon is. As a first name” Stiles grumbles.

“I beg your pardon. Let me buy you a drink. What’s your poison?”

“Poison?” Stiles chokes.

“Figuratively” Nixon purrs.

So once again the drinks are flowing and Stiles has lost count of how many he’s had but he’s decided that’s not a problem because the more he drinks the less he feels. The less intimidating Nixon is. The less worried he is about where Derek has got to. And he’s not jealous per say, but the more he drinks, the less jealous he is. Would be. You know!

Nixon is disarmingly charming. He lathers Stiles with praise and compliments, something he’s definitely not used to. He holds Stiles shoulder as he talks to him, holds eye contact. It’s unnerving. Stiles can’t keep his hands still, his palms are sweating. He’s talking a mile-a-minute about all kinds of crap. Did you know male Koala’s have two penises? No? Well Nixon does now, and Stiles face is red as beetroot because of all the weird animal facts to pull from his brain _why did it have to be that one?!_

One of Nixon’s blonde eyebrows is raising again. “ _Two_ _Penises_?” he repeats, his voice drips like honey and makes Stiles throat close as he tries to gulp. “How interesting. Tell me Stiles, do you think this is a benefit? Could anyone possible _need_ two penises?”

Stiles cringes. He’d give anything for no ones to ever say the word ‘penises’ ever again.

“Er.. I don’t.. I mean.. ones.. quite enough.. I think..”

“You think?”

Stiles can feel his heart rate start to increase and his breathing become more difficult and oh my god if he has a panic attack right now he hopes he just dies.  
But for some reason, Nixon still seems enthralled with him. He’s really not sure why.

“Do you dance?” The question takes Stiles by surprise but he shakes his head vigorously. “Nonsense”

“No! I really-“ He panics, eyes darting round the bar, where the fucks Derek? Seriously, he’s vanished! But his mind is wiped blank when one of Nixon’s hands, colder than he’d expected, wraps bone-crushingly tight around his wrist and pulling him off the stool and towards the floor. Stiles trips over his feet but Nixon catches him, of course. He holds him close, presses their bodies together, keeps trying my make eye contact and Stiles is feeling more and more uncomfortable. He leans away, still desperately searching for Derek who’s still M.I.A.

“Stiles come on, don’t be so shy” Nixon smiles down at him but the dashing smiles which would make a thousand girls weak at the knees is beginning to fill Stiles with fear. His chiselled face, his cheek bones… his insistence.

“I’m not, I… sorry.. I’m not really into..”

“Stiles” his voice drops an octave, suddenly turning forceful. His hands become a bit more pushy, wrapping around Stiles, his hands low on his back, fingers digging in a little too hard to be comfortable. 

“No I-“

“Stop it!”

Stiles body freezes, his eyes wide. Nixon’s hands slide up to his shoulders and begin massaging but it just makes him feel tenser.

“ _Relax_ ” 

His left arms wraps around Stiles back, pulling him close, the other holds his face. Their bodies are crushed together as people dance around them. Nixon leans in. His breath smells strongly of alcohol. His nose brushes up Stiles neck, sending a shiver down his spine. His lips, Stiles can feel his lips, his teeth-

 _Oh my god._ He’s frozen to the spot. Inside he’s screaming and pushing Nixon away. In his mind he’s strong, mentally and physically. Strong enough to deal with this. Strong enough to protect himself. But in reality he’s just stood there like a rabbit in headlights because he’s too damn terrified to move. Because he’s an idiot. He’s weak.  
He feels sick. Tears prickle in his eyes buthe can’t cry now. Please. _Please._ Just let this be over.

“ _You want it. You love it. Being over-powered. Stiles I can smell alpha all over you. I bet you love it, being spanked, stripped, and tied up. I bet you love being fu-“_

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice boomed, startling Stiles out of his freeze frame of fear just long enough to escape.


	5. Don't Waste Your Time On Me You're Already The Voice Inside My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek's relationship develops a bit more.

Stiles had never been so relieved to see Derek Hale before in his life. In fact, he’d never really been relieved at all to see him. Usually the opposite. But the fact he still got nervous sometimes upon seeing the tall brooding werewolf seemed ridiculous now up against Nixon.

However when he steps back and tried to pull away Nixon’s grip actually tightens on him. 

“Can I help you?” 

“You seem to be harassing my _mate_ ” Derek speaks slowly and calmly but Stiles can see he’s bracing himself, feet well apart, fists balled at his sides.

Wait what? _Mate?_

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware he was attached” Nixon snarls in response, a finger stroking Stiles cheek, the nail scraping across his pale skin.

“Well he is”

“That’s funny” Nixon spins Stiles with ease so he has his back to him, before pulling him back against his body tightly. Stiles can feel the older man’s erection pressing against the small of his back and he _really_ doesn’t want to. He has an arm wrapped firmly around Stiles chest, just under his chin, too close to his neck. Too close to being a choke hold. “He doesn’t smell… _used”_

Something flashes in Derek’s eyes. Anger. They flash blue but he takes in a deep breath to calm himself.

“I _use_ him as and when I like”

“Oh but you don’t” Nixon drags a hand down Stiles face, stopping at his chin and tilting his head up roughly, forcing Stiles to look at him. Stiles is numb. His whole body hurts for no explainable reason, he wants to throw up. What is wrong with him? What has he done to deserve this? Is he that bad of a person. “You don’t use him at all. _And he soo wants to be used”_

That’s when Nixon tilts his head and presses his lips to Stiles neck and Stiles loses all control and his knees buckle and his legs give way and he drops half a foot but Nixon’s arm simply tightens around him, now more around his neck and Stiles gasps for air but Derek moves quick as lightening aiming a blow straight at the older man. Nixon dodges, discarding Stiles who crumples on the floor to the left.

He doesn’t see what happens next, he hears people screaming and a table going over and he’s pretty sure at least one person is now wolfed out.   
  


The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, DSM-IV, said that you had to experience four symptoms within an onset time of ten minutes.

Stiles staggered from the club, stumbled a few paces away and fell back on the wall, his back hitting it hard. He checked his watched.

Six and a half minutes.

He could identify:  
Raise in heart rate.  
Difficulty to breath, bordering on suffocation.  
Chills. Sweats.  
Shakes. Violently now too, putting him off balance.

Did you know panic attacks happen most commonly to those with an above average IQ?

The most common time of onset is early adulthood.

Common causes? PTSD. Major Life transitions. Loss of a loved one. Stimulants, such as amphetamines, such as Adderall, even when prescribed.

Stiles slid to the floor. Yup, he was textbook.  
  


Moments later a hand grabs him from under the armpit and hauls him to his feet roughly. He flinches expecting it to be Nixon but its only Derek. He stumbles after him.

“ _It’s sick! It’s disgusting! He gets his kicks out of- out of scaring young boys? Weak.. innocent. Virgins! It’s fucking… eugh-“_ Derek is pulling at his hair and cursing and not quite walking straight but walking very fast and he seems to forget that Stiles is absolutely wasted and also it’s pitch black so he’s basically blind.

“ _Weak?!_ ” He slurs, trying to keep up, checking over his shoulder. What if they were being followed? “Derek?” he wheezes, struggling to keep up, struggling to breath.

“That was him! I’m sure of it! That’s was him, right under our noses. Right-“ Derek falls silent as he turns  around and spots Stiles staggering behind him, clutching at his chest, struggling to breath. “Stiles? Stiles!” he rushes to him, catching him as his knees go again, wrapping an arm round him to prop him up. “Stiles are you.. “

“I’m.. okay.. I.. just” he gasps for breath. “Is he.. gone?”

“Yeah he’s gone don’t worry. Are you okay? You don’t.. look so good..”

Stiles drops his head down onto Derek’s shoulder. They are nowhere near on a level where this is acceptable but Stiles brain is definitely not receiving the oxygen supply it needs to function properly.  
Instinctively Derek wraps an arm around Stiles shoulders. He’s shaking. Crying. Derek’s brain is in panic mode and he feels so uncomfortable he wants to leave but apparently he does have a heart and that heart wants to comfort Stiles. How the hell does he do that?

“It’s okay?” he tries. “He’s gone. Stiles? Holy crap!”

Stiles staggers away from him, he’s really hyperventilating now and Derek feels like he’s about to join him. It’s not often the alpha feels helpless, he doesn’t like it. He follows Stiles, helping him to the floor and dialling Scott’s number.

 _“Derek? What’s going on?”  
“Dude Stiles is like broken, I.. I don’t know what to do Scott?”  
“Broken? Derek what have you done?!” _ The wolf in Scott’s voice is obvious.  
 _“He’s.. he’s not breath properly oh god. We- I think we’ve found the alpha and.. he was with Stiles-“  
“Is he hurt?!”  
“Not physically…”  
_ Scott takes a few deep breaths. _“Okay, give him the phone”_

Derek scrabbles to put the phone in Stiles hand but Stiles is light headed and oblivious to what’s going on so he settles for awkwardly holding the phone to his ear. He can’t hear Scott’s end of the call but he see’s Stiles look up. His eyes were foggy with tears. He swallows and chokes out a breath, a small, broken smile cracking his lips. Its barely there, but he sees it. Scott talks to his for a few minutes and Stiles breathing actually begins to regulate. He gives a feeble laugh, more of a breath, but his hand reaches up to the phone, cold and shaking it covers Derek’s awkwardly for a moment before he can move his.

 _“I’m fine. I.. I swear”_ He stutters. He nods, seemingly forgetting Scott can’t see him. _“I.. no.. I don’t think I’m cut out for this”_ he says light heartedly, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with the cuffs of his shirt. _“Thanks. Yeah. My dad…okay, good… yeah… I’ll see you soon. Bye”_

Stiles hands the phone back to Derek and lays back down with a long exhale of breath. 

Derek helps Stiles back and into the cabin because he hasn't got complete control of his body yet and he keeps tripping. He helps him into the couch and takes a step back to look at him. God, he really does look awful. You don't notice the change in someone when you see them everyday, but honking back to Junior high Stiles..  
  
His face is pale. Paler than usual and clammy. His has dark circles under both his eyes and Derek thinks he's maybe lost weight.   
  
"Er, Stiles are you.. okay?" He spins one of the breakfast bar stool and perches on it backwards, resting his arms on the back and his chin on his arms.   
  
"Yeah, fine" Stiles mumbles, pulling his fee up onto the couch.   
  
"No dude, you look.. terrible" as he says it he sense a pick up in the speed of Stiles heartbeat. He's lying. He bites his lip not would be so much easier to pretend he hasn't noticed that.. but he can't. He moves to the couch and rests a hand on Stiles knee.   
  
"Tell me the truth" he says, more forcefully than maybe he should have.   
  
Stiles swallows hard. "I er, left my medication at home.."  
  
"You what?! Bu- why?"  
  
Stiles shrugs miserably. "One of the side effects.. I thought.. I thought maybe my ADHD meds were making these.. pa.. pan.. _things_ worse. Like, triggering them or something". Okay, so he can't quite say it out loud yet. That's why he hasn't got any help. Because he's inns deal with it himself. Just... obviously not this way.   
  
Derek lets out a low whistle. "Look Stiles I don't know much- anything about human illness and medicine but I'm pretty sure you can't just... stop taking it?"  
  
"Yeah okay thanks captain obvious" Stiles tries to shuffle away a little from Derek because this is getting a bit uncomfortable and he doesn't want Derek to feel like he has to.. comfort him or anything. "Look I just wanna sleep now"  
  
"Stiles!"   
  
And Derek is up close to him again he's got both of his hands on both of Stiles knees, his thumbs unnervingly stroking the inside hollow of his knee cap. Such a tiny movement but it was having a massive effect on him. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall.   
After everything, he's was completely physically and mentally drained but still, all his focus was on Derek's hands. They were warming through his jeans. The small subconscious movement of his thumbs was sending waves of electricity down Stiles thighs and he could feel the blood flow directing straight to his pants and oh my god poor Derek innocently trying to comfort him and he had a semi- He shifted out of Derek's touch before he could see. He could probably smell it- Fuck.   
  
"You stink." Derek crinkles his nose and suddenly Stiles heartbeat is a hammer in his chest. "All I can smell is that damn alpha. Go and have a shower and... you can sleep in the bedroom"  
  
Stiles doesn't need telling twice. He's oh of there like a rocket and in less than ten seconds he's stripped and in the shower.   
The water is hot. It scalds his skin but he embraces the burn because at least it takes his mind away from the arousal Derek is stirring in him.   
  
It was an in going problem. He's always been more than a little terrified of Derek but for some reason... he'd liked it.   
He'd tried to cling to his feelings for Lydia but Derek offered something no girl ever could. Something that hasn't been important to Stiles growing up, straight, but now was something he cherished.   
  
Safety. Protection.   
  
It was a massive turn on and he was convinced that if he stayed in this life he'd never be able to feel the way he felt about Derek about any girl.   
It was natural instinct. But that didn't mean he had to accept it.   
  
He got out the shower and dried himself and was just about to freak out because fuck-it he'd forgotten to out his pajamas in here! when he saw them, folded nearly by the door that lead into the lounge.   
He swallowed. Was he going mad? No he definitely hasn't.. Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just, thank you so much for every comment/kudos. It really means a lot that anyone enjoys this :p (and its not too slow and boring!)


	6. If You Were Here, I'd Never Have A Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Sterek bonding :)

After his shower he dressed slowly, pale blue cotton trousers and a tight black tshirt, because luckily Derek understood sleeping in his boxers didn't feel appropriate.  
He exited through the door that lead to the bedroom. He peeled back the primrose colour quilt, but he felt a pang of… _something_ at the realization Derek had made the bed, and felt the urge to say goodnight. He nervously poked his head out into the lounge.  
  
"Er.. Right, well, I'm off then" he mumbles to Derek, hanging from the door frame, not sure how to say whatever it was he wanted.  
  
Derek looks up. He's got the news on the telly and is reclined on the sofa. His feet are propped up on the coffee table but when he's sees Stiles he rips them off quickly, like a child caught with muddy boots on the furniture. Such an automatic reaction, just not one he'd imagined instilled in Derek.  
Stiles gives him a lopsided smile but bites his tongue. He's too weary for wit.  
  
"Okay.." Is all he's offered by way of response.  
  
He sighs, shaking his head softly and turns to get into bed when Derek calls his name. He turns back to him.  
  
"I'm.. sorry. About tonight. I.. should have kept a better eye on you"  
  
"I'm not a child" Stiles retorts indignantly. ‘ _Don't make it sound like you're my carer’_ , he's thinking.  
  
"No I.. you know I didn't mean that!” he growls frustratedly.  “You're not a child, but you are human. And he wasn’t."  
  
"I could outsmart hi-"  
  
"Stiles! Just, take the apology" Derek's tells him exasperated. He actually pinches the bridge of his nose as if Stiles is giving him a headache, which y'know, if so: job done! It hardly makes them level. But Derek’s eyes are heavy with sleep and Stiles decides to take pity on him.  
  
"Right. Okay. Well. No problem. Night.. I guess" Stiles waves because well done Derek, he was trying to say goodnight in a totally non-cringey not awkward way but you ruined that.  
  
Still, the apology is appreciated.  
  
He lies in bed awake for a long while. At first because Derek has gone out for a run and he doesn't feel safe in the cabin alone. Then because Derek's in the shower and he can hear the water, lucky _lucky_ water, rolling over his naked body and disappearing into the drain.  
Stiles mind is running away with itself. He can only imagine Derek in the shower as a truly magnificent sight to behold.  
  
He can feel himself start to stiffen at the thought, his poor ignored cock. Stiles likes to think of himself as a regular once a day kind of guy. In the shower. Best way to prepare for the day. (He might skip this if it’s a weekend and he's lied in). Sometimes he'll go again in the evening, if he's had a particularly bad or stressful day, he can usually beat away the anger. Nothing like an orgasm to clear your mind…  
He'd never given much thought to what would happen if he couldn't do it. He'd never thought of himself as particularly.. _dependent._  
Dependent on a wank, wow, that sounded pretty pathetic. He shakes his head in disgust.  
Maybe it was the ridiculously claustrophobic proximity to Derek, whom he never thought about when doing it.. never.  
Except recently.. when Lydia had lost her magic.. and he’d needed a new fantasy..  
  
He growls frustratedly, punching the mattress beneath him as he lay on his back. Then he worked on calming himself because he never could work out just what Derek did and didn't pick up on.  
  
  
Sleep was not a good thing. It did not bring peace for Stiles. Only more torment and anguish. His dreams started with his father. That was the emotional pain. He was always disappointed with Stiles in his dreams. The list of ways he's let his dad down were endless. Sometimes his dad would cry and Stiles would wake up in flood of tears, clawing it at his pillow, totally devastated. When he woke up he couldn’t never look his father in the eyes..  
Anyway tonight his father had turned into his gym teacher, telling him he was no good. He was then striking Stiles with his lacrosse net. Stiles crouched to protect himself, yelling for him to stop, but he just laughed.  
Stiles froze. That wasn't his couch’s laugh. He peered up, he was in a bedroom. It was Nixon. Nixon tapped the stick against the palm of his own hand and smiled devilishly. Except now it wasn’t his lacrosse stick, it was a riding crop. And as for clothes… Stiles screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed until another voice penetrates his mind, calling his name. It seemed so far away but it was a light.  
Stiles was running. Running so fast. As fast as he could. But Nixon was chasing him. He could make out a figure at the end of the dark street, the one calling his name. His arms were outstretched. Who was it? His father? _Scott?_  
Suddenly he ran smash into them and woke with a start. His eyes were wet and he was gasping for breath and still screaming a little. His arms flailed. Where was he?! Who was with him?! Someone was in his bed who the fuck was in his bed?!  
  
He took a gulp of air to oxygenate his brain in an attempt to think straight.  
He was in his bed in the cabin ad Derek was beside him, on the bed too, lent over him, concern etched into everyone of his features. One of his hands was on Stiles cheek which was throbbing hot. Not from the touch, nothing soppy like that, obviously Derek had had to hit him to wake him.  
  
"Stiles it's okay!" He said earnestly. "I'm here, everything’s fine. You're safe"  
  
Stiles closed his eyes and felt his body relax into the bed. Derek's hand slides on his cheek as he goes to remove it but Stiles reflexes are lighting quick, his own hand grabbing his and stopping it before he could break the contact.  
  
"I'm sorry" he panted, his eyes still squeezed shut.  
  
Derek's thumb brushes over his cheek a few times before raking through his hair then disappearing. Derek lays down beside him on his back.  
  
"This happen a lot?" He asks, not being nosey, just asking.  
  
Stiles laughs bitterly. "Yeah, you could say that"  
  
"Man, Scott was right. You need some help dude"  
  
Great, now Derek thought he was crazy. Derek who turned into a big half-dog-man thought Stiles was crazy.. _that_ was saying something.  
  
"Nothing can help me. I'm too.. broken" he says, not for pity but because he believes it.  
  
Derek didn't deny this like everyone else did. Scott. Isaac. Lydia. Allison. _'No Stiles you're fine'_ when he quite clearly wasn't. Derek just linked his fingers with his own and gave his hand a small reassuring squeeze.  
  
"Nothing is beyond repair" he said quietly.  
  
And with Derek, he could almost believe it. _Almost._    
  
They lie like this for a long while until Stiles eyelids finally grow heavy.. Each blink becomes more and more laboured. Derek must sense the slowing of his heart rate because just then he slowly pushes him onto his side facing away from him and wriggles up behind him to spoon.  
  
In Stiles mind he knows he should say something. Anything. At least make some wisecrack about how Derek must be desperate, or maybe tease him for being a cuddler. He knows if he wasn’t so tired and his brain wasn't so fried right now he would have a million questions about what's going on, but right there, in the moment, he just silently drifts off to sleep feeling warm and safe.  
  
Derek can't help himself. He's not sure when Stiles became such a prominent and important member of his pack but he had and it was therefore his job as an Alpha to protect him.  
Okay so maybe other Alphas wouldn't take their role quite so.. literally. But he didn't know what else to do.  
He'd sat on that couch for ten minutes listening to Stiles screams and pleas and it was the worst ten minutes he'd had for a while and he wished he could forget them.  
  


When Stiles wakes up the first thing he's aware of is a heavy weight across him. He twitches uncomfortably, first fear, then relaxation as he remembers their escapades from last night.  
He closes his eyes and focuses in his breathing as he feels his cheeks flush red. He's surprised there's any blood left in his body to go to his cheeks because it all seems to have gone due south giving him the worst.. _best_? erection in the history of.. well he's not even gonna got there. Not after the koala incident..  
  
This was getting ridiculous. Even the slight friction from the quilt was triggering his sensitive nerve endings.  
Derek stirred behind him and Stiles jolted trying to pitch his hips to avoid poking the poor unsuspecting werewolf with his totally inappropriate boner.  
  
Derek chuckles softly. "You up?" A joke? Was that…  
  
Stiles freezes, his embarrassment reaching levels he didn't know possible.  “Punny” he forces out.  
  
Just then, one of Derek's fingers 'accidentally' brushes the tip of Stiles cock sending him flying out if bed into a sprawled heap on the floor. He lands wedged in the foot wide gap between the bed and the wall.   
  
"Holy crap!" He wails.  
  
Derek props himself up on one elbow and peers over the edge of the bed, one eyebrow raised as if to say _'really?'_ and Stiles just feels like such a kid.  
  
"Dude, give a guy some warning!"  
  
"Could say the same for you! I prefer to wake up to the smell of coffee and freshly baked croissants. Not Eu de teenage boy"  
  
Stiles pushes himself up and marches from the room, pulling the quilt with him. _That'll teach you Hale!_  
He turns around to poke his tongue out but the sight of Derek majestically stretched out on the bed in a tight white vest and boxers stopped him.  
  
"Er, guess it’s my turn to make breakfast.."  
  
"Aren't you gonna.." Derek nods his head to Stiles tented pants.  
  
"Nope! I'm fine!" He blushes hurrying out of there as quick as possible because even he can smell his own sexual tension in there..  
  
The kitchen leads directly to the bedroom and although he's only trying to chop up bananas it's unexplainably difficult with Derek watching him, pure amusement on his face. He has his arms tucked behind his head and one ankle crossed over the other looking like he's thoroughly enjoying having his breakfast made for him.  
  
Stiles hand slips, the knife narrowly missing his finger. Derek jumps up, only relaxing when he sees he's fine.  
  
Stiles tries to get back into a steady rhythm but that over active imagination is buzzing. When was the last time Derek had breakfast made for him? His parents, his family died seven years ago and he's hardly had a real relationship in that time..  
The thought gives him a pang of pity for Derek. He'd never given explicable thought to the fact Derek had no family. Obviously he'd felt sorry for him when he's heard his story. He's imagined how terrible it but have been..  
But he'd never given much thought to how it might still affect him now.  
  
"Looks good" Derek takes a bowl from the table and begins devouring the muesli.  
  
Stiles sits down opposite him, still deep in thought. Derek finishes eating way before him.  
  
"I'm going for a run"  
  
"You should let that settle" the words leave Stiles mouth before he can stop them and he wants to face palm because he's so used to watching out for his dad it's just second nature to him.  
  
The corner of Derek's mouth twitches into a smile. "I'm a werewolf. You remember that, right?"  
  
"Don't werewolves get indigestion?"  
  
Derek just shakes his head and laughs and heads out the door.  
  
"Hang on! No indigestion? Wait! Maybe I do want the bite!" But Derek was gone.  
  
Stiles clears up and gets changed into blue chinos and a Beatles top. He pulls a plaid shirt over the top and brushes his teeth and cleans the cabin because apparently he's one of those people who cleans when they have feels..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noted the estimated chapters growing. I'm just enjoying this fic too much and I want it end well :) Thanks again so much for feedback.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack arrive and form a plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for no update yesterday! Worked ten days in a row and just couldn't brain. Slightly longer chapter to compensate :)  
> Thanks so much for feedback! I really appreciate it

Derek returns back to the cabin from his run half an hour later. He’s drenched in sweat, his tshirt sticking to his torso. He looks like something from the annual Beacon Hills fireman’s calendar. Rather than complement him and risk inflating his head further Stiles crinkles his nose, but Derek doesn’t really smell and he knows it.  
  
"The pack will be here early afternoon." He informs him. Pulling the teatowl from a rail by the sink and dabbing his face and neck. Stiles averts his eyes. “I er.. told Scott to bring your.. medication” he adds quietly.  
  
"Er thanks. Okay. So, what's the plan?"  
  
"I think he has a pack. A couple of betas. We've just gotta over-power them" Derek nods and Stiles notes he’d probably gone out to get pumped up. He can almost _feel_ the adrenaline pumping through his wolfy blood vessels.  
  
“ _Over.. power..”_  
  
"You don't have to!" He says quickly. "Allison's coming too so.. you can.." he trails off.  
  
Suddenly it's very awkward and Stiles is red with embarrassment again. "Sit with the girls? I'm fine" he grumbles.   
  
"No Stiles I didn't mean.. just... you're human y'know-"  
  
"Yeah I'm pretty well aware of that"  
  
"It's not a bad thing"  
  
"It's also not an excuse. Allison can defend herself…"  
  
Derek regards Stiles, making him thoroughly uncomfortable. He twitches awkwardly under the intense scrutiny. Suddenly Derek gets this look in his eye, the one he always gets when he has a plan and Stiles knows he's in trouble!

“Come here” he instructs, disappearing out of the cabin. Stiles hesitates, rocking up onto the balls of his feet in contemplation. _Oh, what the hell!_ He thinks, grabbing his jacket and following.

  
He tails Derek away from their cabin into the shallow of the woods. It's not that he doesn't trust Derek but he's still cautious around him.  
  
"Dude... where ar-"  
  
But he's cut off when Derek spins round and launches himself at him.  
  
"Derek what the-"  
  
"Defend yourself!"  
  
“But… this is exactly the point! How?”  What the hell is he supposed to do in the instance of a werewolf launching at him?!  
He ducks just late enough that Derek doesn't have the time to change paths and goes straight over his head. It’s not due to some cunning plan, his mind is just not working.  
  
"Good!" Derek snarls but he's at him again, running flat out. Stiles panics and just runs in the opposite direction, of course he's tackled.   
He hits the forest floor with a thud with Derek landing on top of him.   
  
"You're fast, but you can’t outrun a wolf" he says, hot breath at Stiles ear. Not enjoying the face full of dirt Stiles manages to turn himself around which is maybe a big mistake because now he's face to face with Derek and suddenly speechless. He looks to the side, trying to ignore their close proximity and how his body is already responding to it.  
  
"What then? What am I supposed to do? You're faster, stronger, -"  
  
Derek holds his chin, turning him back to face him.  "You do have one edge" he smiles an incredibly wolffish grin and taps Stiles temple.   
  
Stiles doesn't even register what's going on for like a full five minutes. How is he supposed to process any rational thought when the whole of his brain capacity is used up on _'Don't get a boner. Don't get a boner'_  because that’s already happened _way_ to much this weekend and eventually Derek is gonna snap and have him arrested as a sexual predator or put on some list. Or get a restraining order. He pivots his hips and shuffles to try and creates some space between them  
Derek rolls his eyes lightly, jumping up and holding out a hand to help.   
  
"Werewolves fight on instinct, not tactics. This means not only can you outsmart them, but you can predict their next move. I want you to try to predict mine"  
  
He got into it, and Stiles actually started to enjoy the sparring. It was exhilarating and the longer they did it, the easier it became to predict Derek’s moves, which was crazy. And he hadn't exactly felt like he'd been suffering bad from not taking his meds, but it felt amazing to work off some of the excess energy that had been buzzing about him the last two days and he was actually managing to engage his brain. Because he simply had to for this.  
  
His heart was beating hard as Derek pinned him to a tree.   
  
"Not quick enough"  
  
"But you.." he pants. "I di- I thought-"  
  
"You have to know" They’re both breathing heavily, staring at each other. Derek has Stiles collar bunched up in his hand. Stiles eyelids flutter shut. He can’t breathe. Hale is breathing all his damn air-  
  
 ** _"Get off him!"_**  
  
They both jump. Derek does let go but not in the way Scott meant. His automatic reaction is to spin round and protect Stiles, his arms out.  
  
"Derek I swear to god get away from Stiles" Scott is snarling, pacing slowly closer. He hasn't wolfed yet but he's close and rather than explain the situation Derek his snarling and baring his teeth and also close to wolfing and Stiles has to put himself between them and push their Alpha back.

“Yo dude it’s okay! Derek was just helping me”

Scott frowns. “Helping you? In what universe is pinning you against a tree _helping_ you?!”

Stiles can feel colour rising in his cheeks but he ignores it. “He was just teaching me defence! Scott I’m fine honestly!”

It’s obvious that Scott isn’t convinced; his features don’t soften as he continues to glare at Derek over Stiles shoulder, but his stance relaxes a little and he lets Stiles approach him and give him a bro-hug.

“I’m glad you’re here?” Stiles tries.

Scott finally snaps out of it with a little shake of his head as the others approach from the car park. “Yeah. Okay, let’s go sort tactics.”

  
It was a joke. The small cabin had hardly accommodated for just Stiles and Derek, now they were joined by Scott, Allison, Isaac, Boyd and Erica, all of which were trying to crowd round the little coffee table, well it was laughable.

Allison was perched on Scott’s lap, Isaac was next to them, his long legs folded awkwardly to fit under the table. Stiles then Derek were squeezed on the end, all on the small corner sofa meant for no more than probably three normal-sized people, not of werewolf calibre. Boyd was sat on the floor, his back to the wall (the coffee table was like a foot high so this was really no problem) and Erica was sat on one of the breakfast bars stools, muddy boots unashamedly resting on the corner of the table, chewing gum and looking utterly uninterested.

Stiles felt like there should be a map or something in the middle of the table. Instead there was just a leaflet for the bar and a few paper clippings reporting the murders of the boys from around Beacon hills.  
It was laughable really. This alpha, if he had any idea what he was doing would walk all over them.

He sighs. He had an idea. It had come to him straight away. It was so painstakingly obvious. He guessed Derek must have thought of it and discarded it, but what the hell. He’d have to pitch it, they were getting nowhere…  
  
  
"Bait?!" Scott repeats Stiles, his expression is more than shocked.

“Yeah, sure. Why not” Stiles tries to sound confident but his throat involuntarily closes around the words, making them squeak out several decibels higher than he would have liked.   
  
Scott’s eyebrows were up in his hair line as he looked from Stiles to Derek and across to the others, clearly appalled by the suggestion and looking for back up, but no one could make eye contact, cementing Stiles notion that it was the best plan.  
  
"He likes me. He… has a scent for me now-“

“How?!”

“I’ll just.. flirt with him..  and lure him out of the club. I’ll suggest.. coming back to our cabin. Then some way on the way home, bam, you guys step in. It will be totally safe" Stiles says sounding far more unsure than he wants to. “I mean, you’ll all be there. Just not, y’know, _there”_   
  
Scott is still shaking his head. "Wha- sorry what part of baiting an alpha sounds 'totally safe' to you? Because we've had run-ins with alphas before, they're not the friendliest bunch! _No offense_ " he adds for Derek's benefit. 

“You’d have to tell him we were broken up” Derek adds unhelpfully as if this was going to foil Stiles plan. He’s scowling like a moody teenager, arms folded across his chest, staring out the window, pretending the discussion isn’t even happening.

“Wait what?” Isaac chokes, everyone’s head snaps round to either Stiles or Derek.

“Nothing. Irrelevant” Stiles blushes.  
  
Erica is the next one to speak. She shrugs guiltily. “I dunno, it kind of sounds like a pretty good plan” she looks at Stiles.

“It could work” Boyd nods.

“Okay coo-“ Stiles begins but is cut off abruptly.

“It’s a stupid plan. We’re not doing it” They all look at Derek. His face is impassive but his tone of voice is authorative.

“Derek you know I’m right. We know the Alpha will be at that bar again tonight, how else are we gonna get him alone? We can hardly just start a fight with him in there-“

“We’ll find another way-“

“No” Stiles says, mustering up all the forcefulness he can. Derek is the Alpha of the pack which means ultimately his word goes, but they are far from traditional and Stiles is sick of feeling as though he has no role in the pack. “You have to let me do this”  
  
There's an awkward silence as they all wait expectantly for him to agree to their somewhat stupid plan, which he has to do as there really is no other way.

Derek is racking his brains but he knows Stiles is right. Also the younger boy is looking at him so earnestly, his green eyes boring into him, round and pleading and he’s pretty sure is Stiles asked him to cut of both his legs with that look he’d oblige.  He doesn’t want this, not for Stiles. But..  
  
He sighs heavily and slumps back into the couch. "Can't someone else do it?" He whines, his resignation apparent.  It’s a feeble attempt.  
  
"He only goes for humans" Stiles reminds him.  
   
Derek was still shaking his head. It was kind if an unwritten law amongst the pack to protect Stiles. He was the human. He was the brains, he didn’t have the brawn. Dangling an essentially defenceless teen in front of an advanced Alpha just felt like a lamb to the slaughter to him. “I hate it” he mumbles.

“Me too”

“But it’s decided?”

So with varying degrees of enthusiasm they agree with the ‘Stiles-woos-the-alpha-and-lures-him-out-to-his-doom’ plan.

They spend the rest of the afternoon going over the finer details of the plan. They decide Erica and Boyd will also go into the bar, just desperate from Stiles, as an innocent wolf-couple on holiday. That way if things do go bad he has a little back up.   
  
Scott and Derek will have a wait a suitable distance away so Nixon cannot smell them. Allison will wait a little further down with her now and arrow in case he gets past them.   
  
Erica and Allison then take it upon themselves to give Stiles a makeover. _Y'know_ , so he's irresistible.   
  
"So you look single!" Erica enthuses.   
  
"I am single.."  
  
"Well, you know, and actually looking for someone"  
  
"I am actually looking for someone"  
  
Erica steps back and frowns at him. "You are? Huh. Could of fooled me!"  
  
They cover him in aftershave, try to take his hair, and chose out clothes from his 'poor selection'.   
They step back to admire their work, Allison dusting off her hands jokingly.   
  
"Not bad" she smiles, admiring her handiwork on his hair. He'd grown out the short crop. He didn't want to look more baby faced than was necessary. It hasn't grown out long enough to do much with yet though.   
  
"And this shirt!" Erica bounds into the room producing an expensive looking grey shirt with a small black cross above the pocket and white cuffs.   
  
Stiles frowns, taking the shirt and turning it over. "Tha-... that's not my shirt? Where did you get this?"  
  
Erica just smiles at him and winks. "Our work is done!"  
  
He pulls off his tshirt and they leave to let him change but no sooner has he slipped his arms into the mysterious shirt the bathroom door swings open again and suddenly he's face to face with Derek.  
  
Derek skids to a stop an inch from him, the door banging shut behind him. But rather than turn around a leave, Derek seems to freeze. His eyes.. seem to trail down Stiles bare chest. Stiles fumbles with the buttons but under this close scrutiny his fingers don't seem to work.   
  
"Err.." he wants to say something but no words come out.    
  
Then Derek is blushing, oh my god Derek Hale blushes. He looks away quickly, scratches the back of his head. "S-sorry" he mumbles gruffly, turning to leave.   
  
"I- it's fine" he says quickly. "I mean.. what do you think?" He holds his arms out, forgetting the shirts still undone.   
  
Derek coughs. "Er, you might.. wanna.." but he seems lost for words too. He hesitates, then shuffles forward, reaching carefully for Stiles top button and fastening it.   
He looks up, as if for validation but Stiles throat is dry and his mouth and brain don't seem to be communicating at all.   
Derek seems to take this as a go ahead. His fingers work swiftly against the rest of the buttons, his knuckles skimming gently against the sensitive skin of his chest, his stomach sending jolts of electricity and misplaced desire through his body.   
  
"Better?" Stiles whispers.   
  
Derek cocks his head to the side, considering him, then reaches around his neck to adjust his collar.   
  
"Yeah. Not.. bad"  
  
"Not bad? Not bad? The girls spent an hour on this!"  
  
Derek chuckles. "Well I think it will do the job if that's what you want to hear."  
  
Stiles swallows nervously remembering the task at hand. Derek senses the raise in his heart rate and gives him a vaguely pitying smile.   
  
"Oh yeah, that"  
  
"It's a stupid plan, you know that right?"  
  
"Yeah well no one else came up with a better one!"  
  
"But it's not-... it's not your job to get involved in werewolf business. I.. if something happens to you.." He's staring at the wall, the floor, anywhere but Stiles and he can’t help but remember Derek referring to him as his mate… which is stupid because it was obviously just to warn off Nixon but…  he gulps.

“I’m pack”

Before Derek has chance to respond the bathroom door flies open again, this time it’s Scott. He stops and frowns.

“You two.. okay?”

Stiles coughs. “Eh, yeah, fine” they both look in opposite directions.

“Okay.. well, we ready to roll?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be…”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drama drama drama (yeah my summaries are the best)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggle with drama, so er.. here goes :p

 

Stiles hangs back with Scott as they wander down the 2 miles or so to the bar.

“You nervous?” Scott asks softly. It’s the first thing either have said since they left the cabin five minutes ago.

Stiles chews his lip and shrugs. “Err.. nahh _YES._ I’m fu-…” he swallows to compose himself, swinging his arms apprehensively at his sides. “I’m terrified.”

“We’ll… have your back”

“I know”

They continue in silence. Two or three times Stiles tries to start a conversation but the words just die on his lips.  
He’s trying not to think about what’s coming. He flexes his hands open and closed. His palms are sweaty. It’s a humid night too. He can barely breathe.

“So, how was it? Was Derek…  was it okay?”

“Yeah.. it was.. fine. It was fine.”

“I’m really sorry about.. all of this” Scott stops suddenly. “It was a stupid idea to send you away with Derek, and now you’re stuck.. doing this and.. I’m really sorry”

Stiles laughs nervously. “It’s fine dude. I chose to do this. You didn’t make me”

Scott carries on. He’s scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Er.. what.. what did he mean about.. you two.. breaking up?”

“Err-“ Stiles jaw drops. How does he explain that? He doesn’t even really understand himself..

Luckily Allison interrupts them. “I.. erm, I’m gonna wait here then” she points a thumb over her shoulders towards a thick of trees. She smiles at them but there’s obvious nerves to it.

Scott looks over to Stiles who gets the idea and gives them a moment of peace. He can hear Scott reassuring Allison, and her telling him not to worry.  
They walk a little further when Derek sighs and slows. 

“We’ll wait here” he says to Scott, who nods, patting Stiles firmly on the back and smiling before wolfing and darting into the trees.

Derek follows stopping just at the forest edge and looking over his shoulder.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful” he says, and disappears.

  
They reach the bar too soon for Stiles liking. He pauses but they decide he should go in first.

“May as well get this over with as quick as possible” Erica shrugs.

“Good luck Stiles” Boyd tells him flatly as he heads in.

Cool air hits him as soon as he enters the bar. The air conditioning is up high, Stiles can almost feel the breeze on his face. His eyes scan the room left to right but there’s no sign of Nixon yet so he heads to the bar. He shouldn’t drink, he needs to keep his wits about him, but one to calm his nerves won’t hurt..

He finds a bar stool with optimum viewing potential and orders a gin and tonic, because he’s feeling sophisticated.

He sips the cool drink and tries to keep his pulse in check, because werewolves can sense that sort of thing and he doesn’t want to give anything away.

The drink is gone and Stiles is beginning to have second thoughts. Maybe Nixon wont show up? I mean, why would he? He got attacked last time he was here..

 

 

But he will, because wolves are determined and don’t like to loose.

Stiles swallows and contemplates a second drink. He keeps accidently looking over to Boyd and Erica. He must stop doing that. They don’t have I’D’s. They’re on the dance floor. Erica has her slender arms slung easily over Boyd’s shoulders. Her eyes are closed. Boyd’s hands are resting carefully, precisely on her hips. He watches her as she sways. It’s a possessive look in his eyes, but no one could possess Erica.

“ _Stiles.”_ Stiles heart stops as a hand clamps down on his shoulder. The whole atmosphere in the bar seems to shift. Stiles has two seconds to compose himself before turning slowly to face Nixon.

He spins slowly on the stall. “Nixon, you came?”

“You were expecting me?” a smile pulls at the young Alphas face. He looks perfect again although Stiles suspects he didn’t last night when Derek was done with him.

“Expecting, _hoping_ ” Stiles tries to mimic the sultry purr of the older man. He’s not sure it works. It definitely doesn’t suit him or feel natural, but Nixon’s smile extends, flashing his long, pearl white teeth. Stiles supresses a shudder.

“Well here I am. Although others would not return I think” he sits on the stall opposite Stiles and orders them both doubles. “Your mate, he’s… _possessive”_

Erica’s eyes are open now, and she’s watching slyly.

“Is that not the point of a mate”

Nixon laughs darkly. “I suppose so. He’s… very fond of you. I could.. sense it. It was very obvious”

Stiles tries to hide his surprise. “Oh?”

“And yet.. I don’t get… quite the same vibe from you”

Stiles can’t explain the pang of guilt in his stomach. 

“You’re…  there’s a fear there”

“Fears healthy” Stiles tries to sound sure of himself.

“Maybe. You’re here anyway.” Nixon swirls a straw hypnotically around his drink before holding it out to toast Stiles who had been trying to avoid his. “Why are you here?”

Shit. _Shit._ He should have prepared an answer! “I er.. thought I owed you an apology”

Nixon drains his drink. “An apology?” he arches a perfect eyebrow and as he places his empty glass back on the bar his hand falls onto Stiles knee, squeezing it gently. ”Oh, you mean because you _mate_ dragged me from the bar and attempted to _maul_ me?”

“Er yeah, that”

“I don’t care for myself, bruise and broken bones heel, that Armani suit however does not”

Stiles chokes on the gin. It’s too strong, catches the back of his throat. “You want money?”

The hand on his thigh slides higher. “Can you think of another way?”

  
They’re dancing. The fact they’re only feet from Boyd and Erica makes him feel only a fraction safer. He felt guilty and embarrassed that Scott and Derek and Allison had been waiting in the forest for over an hour now because he was _dancing_ with the Alpha. Because he couldn’t seduce him a little quicker. But really he had no experience with this and it was hard to flirt when your life was practically on the line.

Erica’s eyes widen as Nixon’s hand slopes down the curve of Stiles back and cups his arse. He’s grinding against him now and Stiles can tell he’s on it. He swallows nervously, he can’t carry on like this.

“You er.. wanna.. get outta here” Stiles tries to smile.

“Ohh you” Nixon winks. “You just can’t wait can you? But what’s the hurry! I love this bar”

“I don’t” Stiles thinks on his feet, stepping back, breaking the contact. Nixon whimpers. “I er.. it’s.. I’m not feeling it.” And he steps forward, forcing his hand to Nixon’s chest, rubbing a small circle, brushing against the taught fabric spiked at one of his nipples. His eyes flutter.

“Mmm, okay baby. I’ll get my coat”

Stiles throws a look over his shoulder to Boyd and Erica who are both looking a little nervous. Boyd gives him a tiny wave.   
He follows Nixon to the cloak room. His heart is in his throat. What is the alpha’s game? Stiles had assumed he just wooed the boys and killed them, but he had a feeling Nixon was expecting a fair bit more than bloodshed from him.

His knees feel weak as they leave the bar. His legs don’t feel like they can support his weight. He shudders at the simple thought of whatever is on Nixon’s mind.

“You’re cold?”

“No. I’m okay”

“You must forgive me. I forget humans are so… delicate..”

Stiles gulps. “You don’t.. I mean.. you’re a beautiful man. You must.. _get lucky_ often, right?”

Nixon throws his head back and laughs, taking both of Stiles hands and smiling at him. “Are you enquiring after my experience? I assure you you have nothing to worry about.”

He makes off to the right and Stiles freezes, digging his heels into the ground, stopping them both. “The er.. campsites the other way?” he says trying to hide his panic. They hadn’t accounted for this. Suddenly the plan is unravelling in his mind to the point he can’t believe they actually agreed to go along with it, it was so flawed!

“You wanted privacy? I know a place much better, just down from here, no more than five minutes”

“R-really? I didn’t see anywhere before?”

“It’s tucked away” Stiles can tell he’s lying, it’s so obvious! Still he can feel himself being lead away from the pub and away from the rest of the pack.

“I- I’d really rather go back to.. to the campsite-“

“Nonsense”

Nixon mashes his lips against Stiles roughly and drags him with a force to be reckoned with.

 

Erica watches uncomfortably as the Alpha leads Stiles from the bar. Stiles looks so small next to him. Young, younger than he is. And helpless. She feels a pang of anxiety in her chest as for the first time the reality of the situation sinks in. Gone are the days when she would sit in class, watching him, day dreaming about him. That smile, his sarcastic comments. |He was so clever and yet so.. rebellious. But he’d ignored her, and now she was a wolf that unhealthy idolisation of the people who had it so together was so gone, but still, in the back of her heart, there would always be a fondness. An affection.

Her natural instinct is to run after them, that was what she really wanted to do, but they’d agreed to wait a few minutes, give Stiles time to get towards Derek.

They carry on dancing, he eyes fixed to the door. She doesn’t realize she’s stopped swaying until Boyd does the same.

“Something’s wrong?” He observes.

She closes her eyes, trying to block out the bar, give her senses the chance to figure out what’s going on. Something’s wrong, she can feel it. She can smell Stiles fear?  
She sniff the air. 

“Fuck! They’ve gone the other way!” she gasps and takes off in a sprint towards the door, Boyd close on her heels. She turns to follow the direction of Stiles scent but skids to a halt. There’s two people blocking her way. To men. Boys. Barely out of their teens but both… massive. She looks up. 6 foot? Taller? She gulps.

“Going somewhere blondey?” they both fold their arms, smiling menacingly. They’re so _wide_ they block almost the whole road between them.

She can feel Boyd behind her, giving her strength and courage, his chest less than an inch from her back.

“I’m _trying_ to go home” she spits sarcastically.

“Home?” the other pipes in. “So.. not after our Alpha then? Only, he wouldn’t appreciate that”

“Shit” Boyd whispers. 

They have no time and no chance to communicate a plan, they just have to trust each other. Erica takes a deep breath, hoping Boyd is on track and steps to the side. She looks at her pack-mate, her friend, and offers a weak smile. He nods, in agreement, and then he’s running, launching himself at both of them, taking them off guard and knocking them both clean over. She wants to kiss him, thank you!, but doesn’t have the chance. She whirls round a legs it. It’s a matter of seconds, Boyd can only hold both off so long until one is free chasing her, and he’s off to try and aid Stiles, the other following him.

“Man I love it when they play hard to get!” the creep behind her, closing on her, calls. She pushes harder, willing her legs to take her faster, please faster!

“DEREK! SCOTT!” she is shouting as loud as she can. “DEREEKKK!!”

Suddenly she’s hit from behind, she dives, 10 feet through the air, hitting the ground with a loud, bone splitting thud. But it doesn’t matter because Derek is running towards her, Scott close behind.

“Erica?”

“Go!” she screams. “Stiles-“ she’s cut off as a foot clamps down on the back of her head. A seconds doubt passes across Derek face, he wants to help her, she can tell, but she will fix. This guy, he can’t, doesn’t need to kill her. Stiles is in much worse danger and is so much more fragile. “I’ve got this” and despite the pain she’s pushing herself of the floor, spring up, swinging, a roundhouse kick straight to the guys jewels, ooh, that hurts even the strongest werewolves! And she can smell Allison, because she knows her scent. Soon she will have help.

 

Derek is aware Scott’s struggling to keep up with him. He’s not surprised. He’s running harder than he ever has. He’s in full wolf mode. Everything is a blur. His sights, his smell, his thoughts. He can’t think straight. Stiles is in danger. He’s in danger, because of him. And if anything happens to him, it will be his fault. And he’ll never forgive himself. He’d never be able to face any of them again. Scott especially, but Lydia, Erica, Boyd, Isaac. The sheriff. The Sheriff would be devastated. He’d probably try to kill Derek, he wouldn’t be able to, but he’d deserve it.

He pulls up, Scott catching him moments later.

“Where is he? I… I can smell him”

That’s when a yelp in the trees sounds and both their heads turn.

“Stiles!”  Derek yells and rockets.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle, the aftermath, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long one! Also Stiles gets Scott back a little for being a total cock-blocker :p

Derek should probably consult with Scott. Come up with a plan. But he can’t, he’s too angry he can’t even think straight. He’s just seeing red, can _feel_ his anger, taste rage thick and coppery on his tongue.

“Finally!” Boyd yells, his momentary lack of concentration earns him a sweet punch in the jaw from one of Nixon’s beta.

Scott hardly notices, he runs straight for his friend and is knocked flying by Nixon. “ _Stiles!”_ He yells as he hits the floor.

Stiles looks up from where he’s sat on the floor at the base of a tree. His hair is ruffled up, and his belt is very obviously undone but other than that he’s in one piece. He notices Nixon has turned around to face the new arrivals and tries to shuffle away but he’s spotted instantly.

“NOT! _Getting shy are we?”_

Stiles jumps as Nixon’s foot slams down in front of him. 

“Er, well now you mention it, an audience isn’t really my…”

“Shut up!” the Alpha yells and Stiles obliges instantly, the colour draining from his face. “Shut up or I will stand on your head”

“Hey you!” Derek appears from behind the trees, his fists clenched, semi-wolf style. “ _I’m_ his alpha, and I’m the only one allowed to threaten him. Wanna challenge me?” He flexes his arms, not accidently accentuating his rather impressive biceps. Nixon however isn’t intimidated, jumping three foot in the air and wolfing up.

The next few minutes is a blur and a blood bath and Stiles really doesn’t want to look. Boyd is weakening and taking a few heavy blows because of it. He’s also not getting the chance to heal between hits any more. His mewls of pain will haunt Stiles for a while.  
Derek on the other hand is quick and agile, more so than Stiles has ever seen him. He’s got a determination set on his face that is kind of terrifying and totally mesmerising.

Loud shouting brings him out of his daze, the girls are back and Allison is firing arrows threw the sky. Finally Boyd’s beta turns to Nixon. “Garret?” he asks worriedly, losing concentration long enough for Boyd to get on top, his large body weight flattening him. Then Isaac’s there, helping, landing blow after blow.

“Garret is pinned to a tree half a mile away” Erica smiles before stamping down between the Beta’s thighs.

A flash of white flesh blocks Stiles vision as Nixon lifts him up by the scruff of his collar, a foot in the air. His feet are dangling uselessly below him and he tries to wiggle free. He can see Derek out of the corner of his eye 20 yards away, face down in the dirt, trying to push himself up.

Nixon smiles at him, a bone chilling smile that is more terrible than anything Stiles has ever seen. His eyes are glowing red and evil. “I’ll be back for you. Don’t think I won’t” he tells him quietly. “I _always_ get what a want. I’ll turn an army if I have to. And if you warn you’re little friend, I’ll make him watch.” He turns to look over his shoulder. “Ren get up! Go find Garret, we’re leaving”

And with that he throws Stiles, hurls him like a rag-doll, like he weighs nothing, into a tree fifteen feet away and the pain is just all-consuming. It drowns him, blocking out the rest of his senses. It’s as though everything his body has to offer is taken up with feeling the pain. His face is burning from where it scraped the tree bark and his arm, his shoulder, makes a sickening crunch as the rest of his body lands on top it and now fresh sharp pain is blooming from it, a new wave with every breath.

“They’ve gone?” is the first thing he hears. Then footsteps growing closer.

“Stiles? Shit his face! Stiles, Stiles are you-“

“Let me” Scott’s worried voice is cut off by Derek’s more certain one. “Stiles?”

“No!” Scott yells back, sounding more forceful this time. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

Derek visibly flinches, recoiling like a wounded dog. He is wounded. He has a deep gash above his right eye and claw marks all down his chest which are delayed in healing because they were done by an alpha.

“Stiles-“

“I’m okay” he chokes, forcing the words out. He pushes himself up on his good arm and shifts with Scott’s help into a sitting position. “They’re.. are they gone?”

“Yeah they took off. They were injured, they obviously realized they had no way of winning, so they took off. Smart move.”

 

Stiles feels sick but the rest of the gang seem to be taking this as a victory. Erica nearly skips the whole way home!

“ _Beers!_ ” she enthuses. “Derek we need to celebrate!”

“No I-“

She spins round, giving him puppy dog eyes and pouting. “ _Pleeeease!_ We came out all this way!” This argument goes on the whole way back to the cabin. Derek doesn’t want to buy alcohol for minors. Erica points out he’s happy to transform minors into lycanthropes. In the end: she wins.

They get back to the cabin with the booze about half twelve and the drinking commences.

Stiles isn’t in the mood to drink but the pain in his arm is getting worse and worse and with a distinct lack of an open chemist to buy pain killers, beer seems like his best option.  
Everyone’s chatting excitedly but Stiles can’t get involved, he can’t focus on one voice or the other. Why are they all talking at the same time? And so loud. He wants to cover his ears but that could be misconstrued as anti-social..  
He remembers Scott had bought his meds and they were in the bathroom. It wouldn’t be instant relief but…  
He excuses himself and sneaks into the bathroom and opens the cabinet above the sink with his good arm. He struggles with the top of the bottles, trying to twist it off with one hand is a bitch but he manages. He taps two 5mg tablets out and pops them in his mouth, twisting the tap on and dipping his head to take a swig. He thinks about it and takes another 10mg, just because. He contemplates re-joining the party versus just going to bed.

“You’re hurt” Derek’s voice makes him jump, when had he entered?

Stiles tries to clamp the lid back on the bottles but his hands are shaking now and he can’t. Derek reaches over, taking the bottle from his hand and shutting it, placing it back in the cabinet. Just the brush of their hands sends a shiver up Stiles spine. He swallows.

“Yeah” he exhales.

“You’re arm, do you need to go to hospital?”

“I’ll get it checked out when we get home” Stiles dismisses. 

“And your face?”

Stiles golden green eyes flick up to the mirror as he takes in his appearance. No wonder the guy who served them in the off licence looked so scared. He has a split lip and bruise under his left eye but most impressively is the scratch he’d gotten from the tree when Nixon had simply thrown him out the way.

Derek’s hand reaches up slowly, his fingers resting on Stiles jaw, tilting his head to the left carefully, giving him every option to resist. Stiles knows what he’s agreeing to by not. He’s not sure if it’s an actual decision on his part or if he’s simply frozen to the spot but he’s baring his neck to Derek. He’s _trusting_ him, something he wasn’t aware he could do. Something he hadn’t been able to do before. Derek’s thumb strokes down the gash carved across Stiles jaw and down half his neck.

Stiles flinches. “Yup, that’s it. Just… touch it.. sure. Doesn’t hurt” but it did. It was stinging like a bitch. He grit his teeth.

“I can fix it. Well, speed it up a little” he’s looking at Stiles neck, at the cut.

“Of course you can” he tries to put up his sarcasm shield but Derek is just so used to it he pays no attention, ducking his head forward. “ _You’re sniffing me.. no.. that’s your.. dude oh my god that’s your tongue you’re licking me oh my god Derek Hales licking me”_

Derek makes a little noise in his throat that Stiles knows to mean shut up. His tongue is hot and wet as it flicks across the wound and Stiles is aware this should be totally gross but… it isn’t. The first touch stings but the pain soon subsides to tingling and then numbness. Derek pulls back, admiring his work.

“There” he says. “It should heal up quickly now” he nods turning round to leave.

Stiles heart rate is erratic and he kind of feels like a panic attack is coming but no, this is something different. “Wait!” his mouth speaks before he’s even thought of what its saying. Still, Derek’s hand stops on the doorknob. “No. No, you can’t do that and then just _leave”_.

The Alpha turns a little. He opens his mouth to respond but apparently he’s not sure what to say either. “Wh… what do you want me to do?”

Stiles swallows. “Y.. you could… stay? We don’t have to re-join the others”

Derek drops his head.  “No.. you’ve drunk too much.. I.. I should check on the.. rest of them.. they’ll wonder..” he hovers awkwardly at the door, and yeah, he’s blushing again.

Suddenly Stiles feel more embarrassed than ever because why would he even think it was okay for him to invite the pack Alpha to _stay_ in a room with him, especially when the _whole_ pack was there, and he could very well be very straight and so was Stiles.. right.  
He just wants him to leave, but he’s not. He’s turning back to him.

“You’re right! I’ll join you! I think there’s more beers!” and he’s rushing past Derek into the small living area to join the others.

Erica is the only one who acknowledges him. She has a kind of.. _knowing_ smile on her face as she rubs circles into Boyd’s back affectionately and gives them both a nod as they appear from the loo where they’d been alone for the past ten minutes. Thank god everyone’s piss-drunk. 

Two other werewolves have joined them from the camp. A boy and a girl. Brother and sister. The boy is wasted, trying to entice Boyd into sharing his workout routine. The girl is leant over Isaac, making him feel flattered yet thoroughly uncomfortable.  
  
Stiles hooks a beer out of one of the crates. There's a small space between Allison and Scott on the settee. Not really human sized but he reckons he can make it work.  
  
"Hey! Dude.." Scott speaks through gritted teeth, head gesturing not so subtly towards Allison. Stiles isn't too sure exactly where those two stand right now. Since they'd broken up (y'know, after Allison and her family had tried to kill pretty much the whole pack) they'd been getting along better than ever. In fact, Stiles thought they were more together than ever. So what was five minutes apart..  
Stiles leant back, dropping an arm over Scott’s shoulders. He would have done the same to Allison if it wasn’t for his injury.  
  
"Scott, Allison. Scallison! My favourite couple ever! Except, y'know.. Lois Lane and Peter Parker... and Michelle and Barack Obama.. and-"  
  
"Yeah okay, we get it" Scott cuts him off.  
  
"Oh Stiles, you really need a girlfriend!" Allison giggles, patting his knee. Stiles freezes, his mind likening the touch to that of Nixon's. He shudders. No. Don’t think of that.  
  
"He really does!" someone, Erica, calls out in enthusiastic agreement.  
  
Werewolves might be able to tolerate their drink better than humans but five crates later and they're anyone's.  
Oh and Stiles isn't a werewolf so he's been hammered for hours.  
  
It’s nearly light outside and he’s finally so tired he _has_ to sleep and so intoxicated his brain can’t produce any rational thoughts, which was what he was after because he was pretty sure he was already scarred for life after this evening.  
He staggers to the bedroom, falling through the door. The quilt is half on the bed, covering the empty side, and half on the floor. On the floor side Isaac is fast asleep, his long body spooning the much smaller female werewolf who'd joined them from.. where-ever. However it was the bare half of the bed that caught Stile attention.  
  
"Derek!" He whispers loudly. Derek is lied out on his back, hands folded behind his head, ankles crossed. He opens his eyes at his name but remains still. "Derek? Are you awake?" He tries again. This time Derek props himself up onto his elbows.  
  
"It's hard not to be when someone is calling your name" he points out calmly.  
  
Stiles looks over his shoulder, hesitating. "Er.. can I.. I mean, is there room.. only because there's no where-"  
  
Derek shuffles along a little and nods at the space next to him.  
  
Stiles eyes drop to Isaac again who's fast asleep, but what the hell. Stiles slinks into the room and crawls up onto the bed.  
  
Derek raises an eyebrow. "You gonna sleep in that?"  
  
Stiles looks down at himself as if he's forgotten what he's wearing. The tight jeans will have to do but he'll probably tear the mystery shirt if he does attempt to sleep in it..  
  
He works himself free of the shirt one armed with some difficulty and no grace, and tosses it aside. He wriggles under the quilt and lays down on his side facing Derek, his good arm above him.  
  
Derek stares at the ceiling a moment longer before following suit and rolling onto his side to face Stiles. There's a foot at least between them still and two other werewolves in the room but it feels more intense than when they were alone the night before.  
Stiles heart is beating hard in his ears and the alcohol has blurred out his peripheral vision but he smiles dopily and pretends he's totally cool with whatever's happening.  
  
"How are you?" Derek speaks first. It’s a simple question but totally loaded.  
  
Stiles giggles. Yup. The rooms really spinning. "I'm fucked" he says un-intelligently. "An in more ways than one" he adds thinking if his predicament with Nixon.  
  
Derek however seems to be thinking of something totally different though because an eyebrow is raised and the corner of his mouth is quirked up.   
Stiles blushes.  
  
"I mean-"  
  
"Sure" Derek agrees. But.. sure?? What does that mean?  
  
They lay in silence for a while, the sound of Isaacs heavy breathing the only thing audible. Stiles can feel himself relaxing and drifting.  
  
"You can go to sleep" Derek seems both annoyed and amused by Stiles who’s smile falters.  
  
He can’t help his mind flipping back to last night. To his nightmares. The ones he's been suffering almost every night for a while now. It was embarrassing enough waking Derek up, but the whole pack? It wasn't something he really wanted everyone to know about. He didn't want them to think he was any weaker than they already did..  
But Derek seems to read his thoughts.  
  
"It's alright. I'm here, you're safe"  
  
Stiles blushes at his bluntness but shakes his head. "Yeah I know, but.. that won't stop it" but Derek simply reaches around him, splaying one of his hands across the small of his back and pulls him into him. Stiles is rigid for a moment but Derek slots around him, enveloping him in werewolf body heat and he finds himself relaxing into him, tucking his head under Derek's chin, his breath dances lightly on the back of his neck.  
  
Again Stiles thinks he should say something. Anything. He opens his mouth but is greeted with a mouthful of Derek's soft henley. He blows it out his mouth and Derek shuffles slightly. Embarrassed Stiles just forced his eyes shut and buries his head further into Derek's chest.  
  
Stiles is sure he hears Derek whisper _'thanks for today'_ , it's the last thing he hears before drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thanks so much for feedback! This is getting close to 100 kudos which for me is just amazing!
> 
> Also, I've signed up for the teen wolf gift exchange, if anyone fancies it you should! Two days left! http://archiveofourown.org/collections/tw_exchange :)
> 
> Laaaaastly, I'm planning on doing a second part to this story to explore Stiles/Derek's relationship post-trip. Less drama, more angst/smut..?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of part. 1

Stiles wakes up feeling groggy, which is no surprise really, he deserves it. His head is thick and heavy and dehydrated, his legs aching and his arm... that needs sorting.  
His hand automatically reaches for the gash across his face to check the rest of the damage. He can feel it’s noticeably healed and it barely stings to his touch. If only Derek could heal his broken arm with a few strokes of his tongue.. He gulps. _Nope. Don’t think about that!_  
  
He yawns and tries to stretch out like a starfish and wake himself up properly, but of course he hasn't left himself enough room. With a yelp he rolls straight off the bed onto Isaac who breaks his fall, saving agony from his arm no doubt. A very startled Isaac jumps awake, claws shooting into action he’s wolfed up already.  
  
"It's me it's me! Dude Isaac! Stiles! No threat!" Stiles jabber’s in panic.  
  
Isaac has his jaw clamped around the quilt when he stops. He drops it, stuffy floating to the ground around him.  
  
"Stiles? What the hell!" he stares, spitting white cotton from his mouth.  
  
Isaac stands up, shaking Stiles off him. Apparently his lady friend had left in the night, and her brother by the looks of things. _Weird._    
He stretches, sensible; he's stood up, and takes a moment to acclimatize. He looks around in confusion for a minute and Stiles laughs because poor old Isaac had obviously woken up thinking he was at home! His eyes dart from left to right before springing open, his jaw dropping in unison. He looks from topless Stiles on the floor to sleeping Derek on the bed and back again.  
  
"Wha-... you.. I mean.. Both of-"  
  


Stiles for once is speechless. He open and closes his mouth like a fish trying to think of a reasonable explanation for why he’d shared a bed with their Alpha last night but his mind was blank. He couldn’t even think of how to explain the truth, not that he was inclined to want to.

  
"It's rude to stare" both their heads snap round. Derek’s eyes are shut but apparently he’s not asleep.

Queue Isaac disappearing quickly. Once he’s gone Derek opens his eyes and sits up slowly.

“Dude, you look rough” Stiles observes, not really meaning to voice his thoughts out loud but by now we all know his mind and mouth have completely separated from his brain and he’s in no control over his thoughts, feelings, emotions or opinions.

Derek scowls, but doesn’t disagree. “Ugh, I feel.. _my head”_ He lies back down dramatically.

“Uh-uh big guy, it’s gone midday, we were meant to check out… fifteen minutes ago” Stiles checks his watch and yawns again. He finds his duffel bag and shrugs on a grey tshirt. “I better round up the others, we should get going in a minute”

“Not. Gonna. Happen”

“Got. To. Happen”

  
Sure enough ten minutes later the owner of the site shows up. To say he’s angry upon finding noticeably more people than paid for in the cabin would be an understatement. Put it this way: they won’t be welcomed back. In fact Stiles is under the impression that at this very moment their names are being jotted down in a little black book and their photos stabled next to the phone with distinct instruction not to allow back..

It’s another twenty minutes before everyone is awake and rounded up and much to Stiles amusement Derek is suffering with the worst hangover out of the lot, despite definitely not being the drunkest. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll drive!” Scott beams, hooking the Camaro’s keys off the wall and spinning them around his finger as they leave the cabin.

“ _No!”_

“Derekkkkk”

“No.”

“Please”

Derek looks through squinty bloodshot eyes from Scott to Stiles to Allison who are all shaking their heads. He grits his teeth.

“Come on! You owe me! Like, big time” and to everyone’s surprise, Derek agrees. Maybe he’s still drunk? He says it’s to keep the peace but Stiles suspects the big bad wolf isn’t used to drinking like a teenager and the repercussions that follow in the am.  
  


"You need a.." Derek motions like he's going to help Stiles into the car, which Stiles thinks is ridiculous because yes he's probably broken his arm but if you knew Stiles at all you could well assume it wasn't the first time he'd broken a bone and he wasn’t going to lay down and die over it. Ignorance is bliss. He’s sure he can go about normal life.  
He straightens indignantly, sticking his nose in the air and marches to the Camaro, dipping into the back seat and shuffling along, reaching across himself to shut the door. He will not be the damsel in distress. It’s kind of a thing for him.  
  
"Alright buddy?" Scott jumps in and smiles at him in the rear view mirror. He's just happy because he finally gets to drive Derek's Chevy. Heck, he’s probably happy to be driving a car rather than a bike!  
  
Stiles smiles weakly. "Yeah, all good".  
  
Next Derek clambers in the other side, folding almost to fit into the cramped back seats. He looks around with vague interest.  
  
"Never been in the back?" Stiles teases. He gets eyes rolled at him in response.  
  
Lastly Allison opens the passenger door. "See you at the loft.. yeah.. bye!" she waves to Erica.  
  
"Race you!" Is the called response.  
  
They'd got the train up because it had seemed like the quickest way but Erica, Boyd and Isaac had decided to try and run back, through the forests. Stupid competitive wolves.  
  
Allison dipped into the car, laying the map out on her knees she immediately began fiddling with the radio dial.  
  
"Don't you'll- _ruin the presets._." Derek sighs as blaring pop music engulfs the car.  
  
Scott starts the engine and they tyre spins out of the car-park, making Derek cringe. Stiles nudges him and tells him to chill but in retrospect that probably just made it worse.  
  
Scott and Allison make easy conversation in the front the whole way out onto the main road. Allison's map reading skills apparently surpass Stiles by quite some way. Go figure.. He likes to think its just because Scott doesn't shout at her the way Derek had him.  
  
Stiles is so tired it’s physically painful he can't manoeuvre himself into a comfortable position. He keeps trying to rest his head on the door but the doors his bad arm side and every time they go over a speed bump or crater in the road its agony.  
He tries another position, angling himself diagonally. Nope. Maybe he can rest his head on the seatbelt… Derek's head whips round to glare at him.  
  
"Will you quit fidgeting!" He growls.  
  
"I can't get comfortable!"  
  
Derek sighs and they both turn back, sitting forwards awkwardly. Stiles glances sideways at the Alpha, then shuffles slightly towards him. Unless...  
  
"What are you doing?" The older man sounds irritated but it goes ignored.  
  
"Just.." And once he's close enough he leans down and carefully, with baited breath, rests his head in the cavity of Derek's shoulder. Derek freezes beneath him and Stiles waits for him to move abruptly or make some kind of threat on Stiles life... but he doesn't. He shuffles awkwardly and leans back against the car seat. Stiles waits a moment before daring to adjust himself one last time but Derek lets him and yes, he actually comfortable. More so than he would have been leaning against the car door thanks to Derek's body warmth, the gentle rise and fall of his shoulder only serving to sooth him further.  
Shortly after Derek finds himself drifting off, Stiles body doing similar calming things to him, the slow steady beat of his heart like a metronome, hypnotizing him. He doesn't even want to relax but he can't help it.  
  
Scott does a double take fifteen minutes later when he checks the rear-view mirror and sees their scary Alpha with his head lolled back and eyes shut snoozing. He doesn't think he's ever even seen Derek sleeping!  
What was more was the way Stiles had his head rested on his shoulder, his face buried into his neck, as if it was just totally normal and if it had been two humans it perhaps could have been construed as casual, but Derek has his neck bared, something he rarely does, and Scott knows that means something. As a werewolf letting someone rest their face at your neck while you slept.. It wet agains their natural instinct.  
  
Back at the warehouse it's obvious no ones in the mood. It was a close call but Erica, Boyd and Isaac had managed to beat them back, however they we're now exhausted.  
  
Derek looks like he wants to snap at them but refrains because he's tired too. They all are. He sighs, raking a hand through his hair, pacing the room. The others are lounged about waiting to be dismissed.  
  
"I think.. we've solved the problem for now.. but this one might be back to bite us... Anyway yeah, you can all go"  
  
First Scott an Allison leave.  
  
“I’ll chat to my mum, she can see your arm tomorrow. I’ll text you?” Scott asks, giving him a careful one armed hug.

“Thanks dude” Stiles smiles. Even Allison hugs him.

“Get some rest” she says with sympathy and affection in her smile, the warmth spreading to her eyes.

“Yeah I will” he blushes hugging her back.

Stiles is wedged in the middle of the settee. He can feel himself falling asleep again already, even though it’s hardly two in the afternoon. He can’t be bothered to stand, to move, just yet.

Erica and Boyd leave fifteen minutes later, still somehow full of energy, chasing each other round, all smiles, as if nothing had happened. Maybe it was their way of dealing. Maybe it was love.

Then there’s just the three of them and Stiles knows he should get moving, but just as he psyches himself up to move Isaac sighs.

“Right.. I’m gonna…go shower or something…” he looks between them and shudders dramatically shaking his head and muttering about third wheels or something. So Stiles relaxes back into the couch.

It’s silent for a moment. “Erm, are you okay?”

Stiles eyes snap open. Had he just been asleep? This is not okay, right, he has to get home. “Yeah, just tired” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. Is he even gonna be safe to drive? He forces himself up off the couch, his knees creak in protest.

“.. you can.. stay here if you want. For a bit. Y’know. I’m gonna tidy up and do some work.. if you want.. you can sleep in my bed..” Derek chokes out the sentence as if he’s trying to speak a foreign language, as if it’s so difficult to say. He doesn’t think it’s meant to have that affect but Stiles doesn’t feel like he’s really given him a chance to accept.

“No, it’s really okay” he laughs, hitting Derek playfully on the back. He goes to walk past but Derek catches his wrist, circling his fingers round it and turning him back to face him. 

“Sorry. I mean, it’s there if you want it.”

Stiles can’t look away from his eyes, he’s entranced. “ _Thanks_ ” he mumbles slowly.

Derek reaches up, his fingertips ghosting the bare skin below the sleeve of Stiles tshirt. His hand moves across his shoulder, across his collar bone then to his neck. Stiles breath catches in his throat. His eyes drop down to Dereks lips, full and pink and only inches from his face. He thinks about it then, allows himself to imagine kissing Derek, a thought he’s banished for months, but he can’t deny it now.  
He swallows. Derek must.. feel this.

But with a rush of cold air Derek snaps his hand back and looks away.

“A..alright, well, your choice” he shrugs and saunters back into the lounge. Stiles doesn’t move straight away. He physically can’t, because it’s done now. All his walls, his carefully built walls. They’ve all come down now. He feels like sinking to his knees and cry because oh my god he’s never wanted anything more than to kiss Derek Hale, except maybe to want to not want to, if that makes sense.  
But Derek just did this. Shared a bed with him. Spooned him. Bared his neck. Licked his wounds. Then pretended it was nothing. Nothing was going on between them.

Stiles was well and truly screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Part 2 preview*
> 
>  
> 
> -6 days later-
> 
> “Stiles!”
> 
> The Sheriff jumps when Stiles appears behind him a second later, which come on, he’d just summoned him!
> 
> “You rang?” Stiles leans his good arm on the doorframe and grins at his dad.
> 
> The Sheriff holds his chest, shaking his head. “Don’t sneak up on me like that! I just wanted to let you know I’m off to work”
> 
> “You on a 6 til 6?”
> 
> “’Fraid so buddy”
> 
> Stiles gulps nervously but forces a smile he knows his dad can see through it, and nods. A tense silence falls between them. John’s mouth is open as he searches for the words he can’t quite put together. ‘Is that okay son? Only you’ve woken me up every night for the last week screaming and crying and this is your first night alone. Will you be alright?’
> 
> Unfortunately neither Stiles of his father had really had a female figure in their lives for quite a while and neither knew how to so much a broach sensitive subjects.
> 
> “I.. is that okay?” the Sheriff settles with.
> 
> Stiles nods, biting his bottom lip and staring hard at the floor. “Yeah, pff, sure”
> 
> His dad lingers, clearly not convinced but what could he do? Stiles didn’t want to talk about it, wouldn’t talk about it. Every night when he dad ran in and woke him up and tried to get him to talk about it, Stiles can’t.
> 
> The dreams were a mix now, which was even worse. They started.. erotic. Derek. All bare skin and muscles and teeth and tongue and stubble all over every inch of Stiles, working him up into a frenzy, bringing him to the precipice of intangible desire when he’d stop abruptly, leaving Stiles achingly hard and senseless with need . Sometimes, he’d become Nixon. His touching would become rougher and faster and Stiles would notice to late and scream and scream..
> 
> Other times Derek would just stop and laugh, the worst laugh, the worst sound even. Laugh at how pathetic and needy and ridiculous Stiles is.
> 
> Well there are plenty of variations, each as soul-destroying as the next.
> 
> “I’ll catch you in the morning then?”
> 
> “Sure. Have a good shift dad!”
> 
> It will be fine. Nothing will happen. He’s safe.
> 
> He stalks up the stairs and begins pacing his room, trying to think of something to do to keep his mind off.. everything. They'd been home six days. In that time he'd managed not to be alone hardly at all. He'd also managed not to see Derek. Now he had the choice of which one of these he wanted to break...

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 - http://archiveofourown.org/series/64185


End file.
